


Professionals Have Autism

by gaudyAficionado



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, DadSpy, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dyslexia, M/M, MDD, Manic Depressive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stimming, add, add more tags as needed, did, everyone is scouts dad i dont make the rules, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 26,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudyAficionado/pseuds/gaudyAficionado
Summary: Just some neurodivergent mercenary one shots to be posted as I write them.Inspired by angelglue's fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875370/chapters/62872843
Relationships: Engineer & Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Engineer/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 145





	1. Balisong

**Author's Note:**

> Spy has Autism.

Spy enjoyed his morning coffee in relative peace, his mug in one hand and his balisong flipping around his hand. He usually sat outside with his coffee, but with the weather changing, the cold forced him to spend his mornings inside. He disliked the noise of the busy mornings, but he'd rather not lose any fingers to frostbite. 

He positioned himself in a remote corner in an attempt to not only keep a low profile, but to avoid as much of the kitchen chaos as possible. He watched everyone go about their morning routines, the weight of his knife shifting as he absentmindedly flicked it open and closed. The motion was instinct at this point, but something about it calmed him. Flip swing click. Flip swing click. Perfectly accurate. Perfectly precise.

His mind was other places as he watched the other mercenaries trip over each other in an attempt to get their food and get ready for their day. But as small and discreet as he tried to make himself, another body in the combined kitchen dining room is still another body.

“Heya, Suits, finally got too cold for ya’ out there?” Spy internally groaned. It wasn’t too late to take his chances with the frostbite. Within a second Scout was far too close for comfort, causing him to lean away. “Your mother never teach you not to play with knives?”

“Did  _ your _ mother never teach  _ you _ about personal space?” He quipped, standing up to make space between them. He flipped his knife closed before looking at it and slipping it back into his suit. “And I am not  _ playing _ with a toy. You of all people should know the importance of keeping your reflexes swift and your senses sharp. One false move could send us all back to respawn.”

He gave the Scout a look sharper than the blade he was previously juggling. He was done here anyway. The Medic did not appreciate him smoking indoors. He glanced at the Scout who seemed to be flushed.

“If you have nothing more to say, I will be taking my leave.” He silently slipped away, leaving nothing but an empty coffee cup by the sink. It was unfortunate that he still craved the weight and motion of the knife in his skilled hands.


	2. Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic has DID

The RED Medic awoke to the electronic tones of his alarm. He whined a bit as he reached out beside him to find he was alone. He cracked an eye open blearily and saw he was on the spare cot in his lab. Must have been another long night. 

With a gentle click, the alarm was turned off. The ruffling from above told him it wasn’t a second too soon. Though there were some resilient souls among the bunch, he had without a doubt awoken his small flock. It only took a few moments before his family started to come down to see him.

With a coo and a graceful flutter, Archimedes met Johann at his coffee machine, landing atop it. The bird was still splattered with blood from whatever he had gotten into the previous night, only now it was dark and dried. He had also appeared to have been trying to get a hold on whatever it was, blood covering his beak and feet.

“Oh, Archimedes, what did you get into while I was gone, liebe?” He brought a hand up to the bird’s face as he nuzzled and cooed into it. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up then, ja?” 

He gave the bird a soft, kind smile as he held out his palm. The dove hopped cheerily into his hand and the doctor planted a gentle kiss on his head. He brought the bird up to his shoulder where he happily took a familiar seat.

“First things first,” He quickly started a pot of coffee, as per his routine. As the machine bubbled to life, more of his flock began to stir. “Guten morgen, liebt.” He called to them. 

The ones still clinging to sleep relented as they heard the German opening their feed. He was soon surrounded by at least a dozen white birds as he gently gave them their food.

“Did you all sleep well?” He asked them. The blood splattered dove looked at him expectantly for a few seconds before he sighed. “Alright, alright.” 

He reached into the bag, pulling a much smaller handful from the bag and holding it up. It didn’t even take a second for Archimedes to land on the man’s palm and begin eating from it. He clicked his tongue.

“What am I going to do with you, Liebling?” The dove cooed in response, coaxing a loving sigh from the man.

Soon, Johann had his coffee in hand and a pristine Archimedes on his shoulder. 

“Let’s see what you two were up to last night, ja?” 

He moved to the refrigeration unit first, not only to see if there was anything new of interest, but to grab something to eat as well. While he didn’t notice anything new, he did notice something missing. 

“Wasn’t there something in that drawer?” He asked, looking to the guilty party. The bird looked at him innocently. A short “Tsk.” as he squatted down to check the bottom drawer of the fridge. As he pulled it out, the blood was still liquid in the indented grooves on the bottom, viscous and almost honey-like. Their first clue! “Well, this still looks… relatively fresh.”

He pushed the drawer back into the fridge and stood up. He began to close the door before pausing. 

“Ah, yes,” He reached back inside the fridge and carefully picked up the sandwich his partner had made for him. “I almost forgot what I opened it for in the first place!” He chuckled to Archimedes as he closed the door.

Chewing on his sandwich, he made his way over to the obvious culprit, the backup operating table. Whatever was on it was covered with a white sheet, for courtesy, he assumed. He had seen if since he woke up, but there had been more important matters to attend to. He took another bit of his sandwich before setting it aside temporarily.

“Let’s see what you two were doing last night, ja?” He teased. Archimedes, however, did not take his eyes off the cloth. 

The Medic sighed and lifted the sheet. He looked at it with a slight grimace. It definitely wasn’t the worst thing he had seen, but he did wonder why these things _needed_ to happen. 

“Ah, so he decided to… hm.” 

Upon recognition of the project underneath, Archimedes dove immediately onto the table and under the sheet.  
  


“Archimedes!” Johann cried. “We just got you cleaned up!”

Not a minute after he finished washing his darling bird for the second time that morning, there was a knock at the door. It was gentle but strong and he immediately recognized it.

“Come in!” He called, releasing the dove. Archimedes landed on the table and immediately started shaking the water off his feathers. The Medic chuckled as he pulled his glasses off his face to wipe the stray droplets away. When he put his glasses back on, he saw the large figure of the RED Heavy.

“Guten morgen, mein Bärchen,” He chimed happily, wrapping the man in an embrace to the best of his ability. The larger man quickly filled in the gaps.

“Good morning, Doktor,” He said. “Seems you had good sleep?”

The German sighed. Heavy was the only one that knew about his… condition, at least he was the only one he had told. Admittedly, it was rather obvious he had a disorder in hindsight, but he also did not work with a field of medical professionals, let alone specialized psychologists. His Heavy had taken it extremely well; Johann had no doubt he was going to, but Wilhelm, of course, was worried.

“I suppose I did,” He said, head resting on his partner’s stomach, his hand now gently holding Heavy’s arm. “But _somebody_ made sein vater give him a bath _twice_ this morning!” He said pointedly at Archimedes. The bird tilted his head with a small coo and continued to shake water out of his feathers.

Misha chuckled and planted a kiss on the top of his doctor’s head. “Silly bird.” 

They stood there for a minute or two in each other’s silent embrace before the larger man spoke.

“It is almost time for battle, Doktor,” He said gently. “Are you ready?”

Johann shuffled a bit to look up at Misha sadly. He knew that he couldn’t avoid it, but… 

“But I want to stay here with you,” He said sadly, almost a whine. He shoved his face further into the man’s torso. “It’s such a nice morning, and I rarely get to spend them with you.”

Misha sighed again and put his head on top of the smaller man’s. “I know, Doktor, but we must.”

Johann pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. He looked back down and rubbed Misha’s arm slightly. 

“Will I see you tonight, then?” He asked.

“I will be here,” the Heavy replied. “I always am.”

Johann looked back up at Misha, and the two shared a gentle kiss before he receded back into his arms. 

The smaller man’s tight grip slowly softened and soon he was standing in the cushion of dissociation. Time passed, what felt like hours and seconds at the same time as the man’s demeanor changed. His posture straightened and his warm, loving gaze lowered into a hardened, determined one. 

Eventually, the smaller man’s hug became cold and stiff with discomfort. Misha’s arms released him, and Wilhelm took a step back. Wilhelm seemed to be different in every way, even so much as to say he seemed taller, but that was probably thanks to his erect posture.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Herr Heavy.” He said solidly. “I will be ready in just a few minutes.”

“Of course, Doktor,” He said. “I will wait outside, da?”

“Yes, thank you,” He replied, rinsing his coffee mug. 

As he walked to the door, Misha gave a firm. “Good morning.”

Wilhelm looked back up to the man as he left. “Ah, yes, guten tag.”

He set the now clean plate gently on the counter next to the sink and began getting ready for his day.


	3. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A repost because I wasn't happy with it the first time

It was in his job description to pick up on the tiniest of body language, but it took years of practice to get it down. He had spent almost the entirety of his life studying the things which he learned people deemed important. He had not always known that the body was a thing that could be read cover to cover and analyzed like a book. 

Different stances told people different things. How people held themselves told an observant onlooker much about them. Much like a doctor must study for years to practice medicine, he, too, had to study to read and replicate the language of the human body. The subtle reliances of the BLU Medic and Heavy, the overconfidence of their Scout, the creeping paranoia of their Sniper. Each member of the BLU team had their own tics and tells that he had had to learn over the years. He had to learn when each member needed his sympathy to gain their trust and how to be sympathetic in turn.

He would never admit that he was not always as good as he needed to be. Understanding body language was a facet of his job and something he didn’t tend to waste his energy on elsewhere. He didn’t catch the way his team’s attitude slightly changed around him. He didn’t catch the glances he got from his Sniper off the battlefield. He didn’t catch how hurt Jeremy got when he said certain things. 

His understanding of the enemies’ emotions on the battlefield meant the difference between life and death. Something as simple as a bad morning for the BLU team could lead to him being caught and killed. However, that did not mean he had enough energy or patience to figure out if his own teammates liked him or not. This was a business relationship. They didn’t need to be friends. He did his job and expected the same from his team. He did not need anything more than that.


	4. Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout has ADHD.

Scout made his way to the Med Lab, clutching his arm close to him. He hated having to see the Doc after hours. There was somethin different about him. He couldn’t explain it, and frankly he didn’t think he wanted to. Doc did some freaky shit in his spare time, but he guessed it worked. He managed to make that weird healing gun, so that made his life easier.

What he was really worried about was all the questions. He was gonna ask too many questions and he wasn’t gonna like any of the answers. _Yeah, Doc, I dunno, it just hurts, don’t worry about it, I’m fine._ He would look at Scout suspiciously and poke and prod. If he was lucky, he could manage to wiggle out before becoming his next experiment.

He knocked awkwardly and called out. “Uh, hey, Doc. Can I come in?”

He hadn’t realized there was a whirring sound until after it stopped. _Don’t worry about it, Jeremy, you’ll be fine. You just gotta get your arm patched up and you’ll be out lickety split._

“One second!” The Medic called. Scout heard shuffling and movement of what sounded like a sheet. After a few seconds, the medic spoke once again. “Come in!”

Scout opened the door slowly, fearing what he may find inside, but surprisingly found much less than he was expecting. The smiling doctor stood between two examination tables. Sure he was covered in blood and the far table was covered with a white sheet that was slowly turning red where it touched the table, but at least he covered it up, he guessed. 

“How can I help you, mein Scout?” He asked, breaking Jeremy from his reverie. 

“Oh, uh…” He shrugged, wincing and swearing as he agitated his injured arm. The Medic’s eyes immediately locked to his clutched arm. “So, heheh, it’s a long story actually. I-”

“Sit down.” The Medic interrupted, motioning to the empty table next to him.

“H-Hey, it’s not as bad as it looks, doc, I promise,” Scout chuckled nervously, heading over rather slowly for the fastest member of the team. “Just bumped into the wall a little hard y’know. Probably just a bad bruise, but…”

The Medic grabbed him as soon as he came within reach and harshly pulled him to sit on the table. “Believe what you will, but I know you would not have bothered me if you didn’t think it was serious.”

Scout yelped in pain as he was repositioned. “Well, uh, heh, I mean- Ow!” The Medic had begun pinching and prodding his arm intensely. He yanked himself away. “If you know it hurts, stop touchin’ it!”

“Come on, don’t be such a baby,” Medic said sternly, moving closer. “Stay still, and we can be done with this sooner.”

“No!” Scout yelped, scooting further away. “You’re just pinchin’ and pokin’ at it!”

“I have to know what is wrong before I can do anything to help you,” He said. A realization clicked in the doctor’s eyes. “Alternatively…”

The doctor let out a hum of thought that made Scout a little uncomfortable as he dug through his things. Scout noticed that the cloth covering the mass on the table next to him had gotten much more red since he had been sitting there. There were splotches on the top in weird shapes that he couldn't begin to understand and the red starting from the bottom had crept its way up quite a ways. He wasn’t sure how that could even happen with gravity and everything still being functional. Unless… 

“Ahah!” The doctor cried. He picked up a strange window looking box from the equipment table nearby. “Here it is!”

“There what is?” Jeremy asked, afraid it was going to be some sort of bone melter or something. 

“This little thing, mein freund, is an x-radiation screen,” He touted boastfully. “It will allow me to take a look at your bones without having to slice your arm open.” He beamed at the device. “Or ‘pinching and poking’ as you put it.”

Jeremy blinked. He liked where this was going. This tiny little box could save him so much trouble? With this little box he could skip out on half of the reason he hated showing up in the first place. It sounded too good to be true.

“Really? What’s the catch?” He asked.

“There’s no catch!” The Medic boasted. “Well, no immediate effects. The effects of x-radiation on the human body have not been thoroughly tested yet, but I can’t imagine it could turn out too terribly! The worst case scenario-”

Scout had stopped listening after the first sentence and scooted back up to the Medic. “Yeah, yeah, just fix me up, doc!”

The doctor sighed at being interrupted. “Okay, ja,” He held up the box. “Hold up your arm, bitte.”

Medic watched Scout move his arm a few inches before wincing. “Nein, kind. Further if you can.”

“I’m holdin’ it as high as I can, doc!” Scout complained loudly. “Not sure if you noticed, but it really freakin’ hurts!”

“Aw, it will only be a second,” He chided. After a second of no response, he sighed. “Well, if you won’t move your arm any further, will you at least flex it for me?”

Medic gave a short flex of his arm as an example, and Scout laughed.

“If you wanted a ticket to the gun show, you coulda just asked, doc!” He said, rolling up his sleeve. He quickly flexed his arm and instantly regretted it.

His arm shot through with pain as he thoughtlessly moved it out of its comfort zone. Before he could even react, the Medic had grabbed his elbow, preventing him from pulling it back.

“Ack, fuck! What the hell, man?” He exclaimed.

“Perfect!” The Medic beamed, turning on the device with one hand. “Now hold still! This should only take a moment.”

Scout couldn’t focus on anything around him with the sharp pain in his arm and shoulder blazing. He tried to squirm out of his grasp, but every tiny move made it worse. He tried to alleviate the pain by focusing on literally anything else. He bounced his legs frantically, resisting the urge to rip himself away once more and bolt for the door. But sooner than he expected, it was over.

“Oh, gott im himmel,” The man muttered as he released the boy’s arm. He turned to put the machine away. “What did you do to not only dislocate your shoulder, but break your bone in two places?”

Scout was cradling his arm gently as if the man in front of him would cut it off if he let it go again. “Eh, well, like I said, I had a nasty collision with the wall. End of story. Next question.”

“Mhm.” The doctor said. “I should have seen the other guy, ja?” He looked at Scout. “Or, the wall, I should say.”

“Yeah, whatever, doc, can you fix it or not?” The Bostonian huffed.

“I can, but you’re not going to like it.”

_I haven’t liked anything about this visit so far._ “Do I have any other option?”

“Not really,” Medic smiled. “I’m going to have to relocate your shoulder before I heal your bones back together.” He wiped some of the blood off his gloves onto his already red lab coat, hardly making a difference on the cleanliness of either of them. “The good news is that your shirt is already red.” He moved in front of the Scout, carefully holding his hand out with one hand and putting his other on the boy’s dislocated shoulder. “The bad news is that this will hurt. A lot.”

The shrill scream from the Med Lab was heard by everyone throughout the base. Within seconds, the Spy’s armchair was empty, a still lit cigarette left in the ashtray. 

“Oh come now, Scout, it certainly wasn’t _that_ bad,” Ludwig tutted. “Surely you’ve seen worse.”

The Scout looked up at him like a sad puppy, clutching his arm tighter than before.

“Oh, cheer up we’re almost…” He trailed off as one blood splatter bird landed on the Scout’s arm. “Archimedes, what are you…”

The Medic stared as Archimedes began nuzzling Scout’s face and chin, getting blood on the boy. There was a cheerful coo as he began to nip at Scout’s ear.

“Oh, Liebling,” Johann muttered softly. He took his gloves off without taking his eyes off his dove, managing to get the blood on his hands in the process. After tossing the gloves to the nearest flat surface, he reached out and scratched the dove’s chin. “Was machst du, Liebling?”

With another coo, he nuzzled under Scout’s fearful chin once more. 

“Oh, you like the Scout?” He asked, holding out his hand to him. Archimedes hopped into Johann’s hand and he brought him closer to himself. “Yes, he is quite a nice boy, isn’t he?”

The Medic planted a soft kiss on the bird’s head and was given a soft nuzzle in return.

“Uh, doc?” 

Johann looked up. “Hm?”

Scout was looking at him defensively as he held his still broken arm. “My arm?”

“Ah, yes!” The Medic exclaimed. “I had all but forgotten.” He held his hand out. “Okay, Archimedes, run along, Papa’s busy.”

The bird looked once more at Johann before fluttering off his hand and landing on top of Scout’s head, nestling in his soft brown hair. Scout’s face immediately turned red, barely off from the red of his shirt.

“Oh, kindchen, I believe Archimedes likes you.” Johann chuckled. He looked at Scout’s arm, gently touching the realigned shoulder. “Your shoulder looks much better already, but of course it will be even better after we use the Medi-Gun on it.”

He stepped over to the Medi-Gun to see it was pointed at the cloth covered table beside them. “Hm. A problem for later.” 

He turned the gun towards the Scout and began humming softly as he brought the gun whirring to life. Within a few seconds, the warm beam reached out and enveloped Scout, popping his bone fragments into their proper place and startling Archimedes out of his hair nest. Within a few seconds, Scout was as good as new.

“ _Voilà_ , as one might say.” He said, flipping off the gun. He wiped his hands on a relatively clean portion of his coat. “Did you need anything else, mein Scout? A painkiller, perhaps, for if you are sore later?”

Scout looked at the doctor a bit confused. He was sure he’d never been offered any painkillers before. 

“Uh, thanks but no thanks, doc.” He said, hopping up and stretching his newly healed arm, obviously eager to leave. “I’ll get outta your hair. You seemed a bit… busy…”

“Okay then, if you are certain.” He smiled, a much kinder smile than Ludwig’s. “Gute nacht, mein freund!”

“Uh, yeah, you too.” Scout said, already halfway out the door.

And then he was alone. Well, not really… 

“You can come out.” He said. “I don’t bite. He might, but I don’t.”

There was a stiffening silence that lasted more than a few seconds. The silence was broken by the near silent sound of expensive French shoes stepping out of his lab, the faintest smell of smoke leaving with it. He sighed as Archimedes landed on the mostly red sheet on the table.

“Yes, Archimedes, let’s take a look…”


	5. Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper also has Autism and ADHD.

Spy’s head was swimming. He was not normally this close to the front lines for this long. He preferred getting his business done quickly and leaving, but the BLU team had had other plans for him today. He was stuck shifting in and out of their team, never getting a good enough chance to strike, but never being out of sight enough to activate his cloak and escape. 

_ Merde. _ He thought to himself after finally taking down the engineer and his buildings. He managed to slip away unseen, but there was too much going on for him to be able to focus. He would be fine, he told himself. Just a quick cigarette somewhere far away from the constant barrage of yelling and explosions would refresh his senses and allow him to get back to work.

He walked, invisible and silent, his cold knife closed in his hand. Eventually the noises of battle faded enough for his brain to be convinced it was not under barrage. He glanced around at the nearby buildings, finding a particularly small, out of the way hut for him to recover.  _ Parfait _ .

He silently slipped inside, nearly collapsing in the nearest corner. He pulled out his cigarette case. He would take a short break to return to his senses and resume his work as soon as possible. As much as he hated sitting alone being useless, he would be even more useless until he recovered.

Sniper froze as he heard the near inaudible creak of the door behind him. He quickly looked behind him, hovering a hand over his kukri. He glanced around his small nest for a few seconds, checking for any signs of movement. 

After no further moves were taken against him, he shivered and slowly moved back to his gun. He hadn’t gotten too far from his original position, but it still took him a few seconds to get situated again.

He peered through his scope, but couldn’t focus. Despite the fact that he was looking down his gun, he was too busy to see the enemy team through the glass. His spine tingled and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in the room with him. He glanced up at the wall in front of him, seeing only his shadow alone on the wall.

_ There’s no one here, Mundy. _ He told himself.  _ Pull yourself together. You got a job to do. _

Despite his affirmations, he couldn’t get over it. He slowly, silently set his gun to the side and picked up his kukri. In one swift, fluid motion, he stood, turning around and slicing the air behind him. He didn’t hit anything. But immediately, he saw he hadn’t been wrong in his suspicions.

The RED Spy sat in the corner by the door, not even acknowledging the Sniper’s existence. He would have been more suspicious of the man if he didn’t seem so vulnerable and disinterested. If this man was really the BLU spy, he would not have waited half as long as he’d been there to stab him, and he definitely would not have ignored such a blind strike.

His Spy looked dazed and rattled. His cigarette case sat in one of his hands on the floor, closed and only loosely gripped in his fingers. His other hand held his knife in a death grip. It was closed and he had the handle pressed up against his mouth. Sniper could just barely see the flash of teeth and noticed he had one of the handle’s hollow edges between his teeth, carefully biting the metal.

Sniper carefully set down his kukri before glancing out his window once more. He should be doing his job, but… 

He sighed. Professionals have standards, after all.

“Hey, you good, mate?” He asked softly, keeping his distance. The Spy nearly jumped out of his skin as the knife clumsily flipped around in his hand a few moments longer than it normally would have taken before it was pointed in his direction. “Hey, hey. ‘Salright, mate. ‘S just me.”

The Spy seemed to take a second to realize what was happening before his hand relaxed. He swore in French under his breath. 

“You alright, Spook?” He asked a second time. He seemed, well… spooked. 

“I’m… fine.” The Frenchman said, putting his knife away, not as clumsy as he pulled it out, but not near as perfect as it usually is. “I was going to take a quick smoke break before getting back to work.”

Sniper watched Spy pop open his cigarette case and stare into it for a few seconds too long.

“Y’seem pretty stirred up,” He said, sitting on the floor near him, but not in his personal space bubble. “Rough day?”

Spy looked up at the Australian, a hand still hovering over a cigarette in his case. “You could say that,” He scoffed, he mused for a few more seconds before plucking a cigarette from its spot. “I’ll be out of your hair momentarily.”

“Nah, mate,” Sniper said. He leaned his back against one of the crates behind him, allowing him to comfortably look at Spy while he was recovering. “We got all day. You seem pretty overstimulated.”

Spy looked up at Sniper in confusion. “ _ Quoi? _ ” He was cradling his lighter in both hands, away from the cigarette in his mouth and unlit.

“Yeah, don’ worry ‘bout it, mate,” Sniper said. “I get that way sometimes after a bad day, too. Can’t imagine havin’ to be down there in it all day.” 

He shook his head at the thought. He paused for a second before getting up and digging around. After a few seconds, he produced a canteen and set it on the floor within Spy’s reach.

“Got some coffee if ya interested,” He looked around. “Pretty sure I’ve got some water ‘round here somewhere if ya’d prefer that.” 

“Why?” The Spy asked, unlit cigarette, now in his fingers instead of his mouth.

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering me your hospitality?” He asked, motioning to the canteen.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” He shrugged, sitting back down on the box near his gun. “Watchin’ your back don’t just mean down there.” He pointed out the window behind him.

He popped open his gun case and dug around in the pockets. “Ah, piss,” He muttered to himself. “Where’d I put it?” After a minute or two of digging he pulled out a long perforated cylinder. “Ah there it is.”

Sniper screwed the silencer onto the end of his barrel and glanced down the length to check its alignment. He quickly shifted his gaze through the scope onto the battlefield for a few seconds before pulling his rifle back into his lap and turning back to his nestmate.

“I gotta keep an eye out, but you stay there ‘s long as ya need,” He said. He tapped the attachment on his barrel. “I put my silencer on, but if that’s still too much, let me know.”

The Spy looked at him, still fully confused. “Ah…  _ Oui _ .” He said simply.

Sniper hummed an acknowledgement and turned back to the window and crouched over his rifle once more. It was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Sniper fired his first shot. It was much quieter than it usually was. Sniper’s mouth turned up at the corner.

“Gotcha,” He muttered quietly to himself.

Though Spy didn’t want to admit it, this easy quiet was relaxing. Despite the quiet noises the Australian occasionally made, it wasn’t making his recovery worse.

After about half an hour and a few drinks out of Sniper’s canteen, Spy quietly retreated from the hut. Sniper looked up at the slight movement caught out of the corner of his eye. Instead of seeing his teammate, he saw his canteen returned to his side along with a single cigarette set beside it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He did it, he said the thing.


	6. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout has trouble focusing in meetings and Sniper is mom.
> 
> TW for Coping disrespect/vague ableism

Scout sat bored in the dining room as the meeting began. Soldier occasionally got it into his head that it would make everyone do better if he made everyone sit down before the day’s battle started and told them what to do. His plans rarely actually had an effect on the battle and usually consisted of telling people to do what they were already doing or to do something exactly contradictory to what they actually needed to do.

One time he had told Sniper to “quit being a pansy” and to “get off his girly ass and fight with everyone else like a man.” Scout smiled a bit as he remembered the look on his face when Sniper’s response was a long drink of coffee followed by a simple “Nah, mate.”

Scout flipped open his little notebook he had begun bringing to these meetings and dropped a couple pens onto the table in front of him. He actually had 3 differently colored pens and a yellow highlighter. He found it much easier to get through meetings with something to do with his hands. He missed a lot less than he would without them, but anything that still managed to slip past him was usually filled in for him later by Sniper, Heavy, or even the Demoman.

He picked up his red pen and began scribbling away as Soldier began berating Spy, who appeared to be taking it well by his standards. He only looked vaguely annoyed and the eyeroll was only mostly visible.

His doodle was coming along really well and he capped his cheap pen, grabbing the blue counterpart and continuing his work. Soldier had decided that Spy wasn’t worth his time, as he usually ended up doing during these meetings. He had pulled out a map of the battlefield and was discussing where the Engineer should put his sentries.

“I dunno, pardner,” Dell replied. “It just doesn’t seem very practical. It doesn’t have any cover from this side and the enemy Snipe-”

“Nonsense!” Soldier exclaimed. “This is the perfect spot for a sentry! The enemies will never expect it, and the element of surprise is the most valuable resource!”

Engi seemed displeased with the response, but didn’t say anything.

Scout’s smile widened as he grabbed his last pen, a black one, and added the finishing touches. With a few more marks from his highlighter, it was done. His page was covered with an extremely accurate depiction of him running past the BLU Medic, smashing his skull in with his Atomizer, made even better with the descriptive “BONK!” written in action text.

He chuckled to himself, picking up his pen again to decorate the page further.  _ Classic Scout. _

“Scout,” He heard Soldier yell.

“Hm?” He asked in acknowledgement.

“Scout!” He repeated.

“Yeah, what?” Scout said, not looking up from his page.

“SCOUT!” 

“What??” Scout looked up, annoyed. 

Soldier appeared furious with him and a quick glance around the room revealed that everyone’s gaze was upon him. Their expressions varied from a sympathetic look from Sniper to the annoyed glare from their Medic. 

“WHAT exactly do you think you’re doing?” The Soldier yelled at him.

“Uh… sitting here listening to you yell at me?” He chuckled nervously.

“I will not tolerate this DISRESPECT! Do you have ANY idea what I’ve even been saying?”

“Uh, yeah, you were just talkin’ about how you guys were gonna throw yourselves at the point like you normally do…” He answered. “And before that, you were tellin’ Hardhat where to put his turret. And… um… before that…”

He looked around the room for reassurance and met the gaze of Spy instead. Anger burned in his eyes and he broke eye contact with the Bostonian.  _ Ah, fuck. _ He had really fucked it up now. Spy was pissed at him and wouldn't even look at him. He felt his face heat up and he wanted to disappear. If he felt small before, he felt so freakin’ tiny now. 

He followed Spy’s gaze back to Soldier who seemed even madder. He didn’t understand why; he answered the question right, why was he still mad at him? He didn’t understand, he was doing his best, he-

“Ey, piss off,” Sniper interrupted. “He’s just a kid, leave ‘im alone.”

Sniper had stepped forward towards Soldier, stern expression barely hidden behind his glasses. There was something about the way Sniper spoke that left no room for negotiation. The two mercenaries were locked in a deathly staring contest that seemed to have no end.

The Medic cleared his throat. “Well, would you look at the time.” He stated firmly, standing up. “I must finish getting my equipment ready. I will see you all on the battlefield.”

He led his Heavy out of the room. The Engineer gave Scout an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he walked out after them. One by one, the dining room cleared until only Scout and Sniper remained.

“Hey, don’t let him get to ya, mate,” The Australian said, sitting next to him. “The asshole don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

“Yea, whatever,” Scout said dryly. “I’m fine.”

He was suddenly no longer interested in seeing the drawing in his notebook. He flipped the book closed and pushed it across the table.

“Yeah, no you’re not,” Sniper said plainly, planting a hand on Scout’s knee. “What’s on ya mind?”

Scout crossed his arms and flopped back into his chair, looking at Sniper’s hand. He didn’t want to tell him what was actually wrong, but he had a feeling Sniper wouldn’t let him leave without an answer. He shifted again to put his head down on the table.

“I don’t understand why he’s mad at me. He thought I wasn’t listening, but when I told him what he was talking about, he got even madder at me.” 

“He’s just like that,” Sniper said, moving his hand to Scout’s back. “You and I both you've been gettin’ better about it. That wanker just gets a kick off makin’ us feel bad.”

“Yeah,” Scout said dejectedly. The image of Spy’s anger burned in his mind’s eye.

“Since when did you care about Soldier barkin’ at ya?” 

Scout stayed silent for a while. “I don’t.” He muttered angrily.

“Yeah?” Sniper asked. “Then what’s got you so outta whack?”

After several seconds of silence, Scout spoke again, barely audible. “Spy’smadatme.”

“Come again?” He asked.

“Spy’s mad at me,” Scout relented. “I don’t know why, but I have a couple good guesses.”

“What?” Sniper kind of chuckled. “What makes you say that?”

Scout looked up. “I saw him. I’ve never seen him so mad.” He dropped his head back onto the table. “He wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Son, Spy’s not mad at you.”

“Did you see him?” Scout sat up defensively. 

“Yes,” Sniper said. “I did notice he was upset. But I can promise you without a doubt in my mind he wasn’t mad at you.”

Scout was about to argue, but Sniper spoke first. “Listen, Jeremy. Trust me. He ain’t mad at you.” Sniper looked over Scout, his hand still on the other’s shoulder. “Tell you what. After work tonight, I’ll take ya into town and get you somethin’ nice to eat. That sound good?”

Scout wiped his face off onto his handwraps. “Yeah, sure.”

Sniper wrapped the younger man into a tight embrace. “I’m proud of ya, Jeremy.”

They sat in silence together for a while before Sniper’s watch beeped. “Sounds like that BLU Medic needs his brains bashed in, yea?”

Scout pulled away, wiping at his face again with a sniffle. “Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’ll race ya.”


	7. Procedure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy brings the Medic dinner.
> 
> TW for Medic-typical gore/surgery/medical stuff

Ludwig was on the verge of a breakthrough. With the advances in modern technology and his sharp mind, he would eventually perfect the organic machine known as the human body. He, of course, needed to make sure his theories would actually work first.

There was a loud knock at the door. He normally tried to be polite and cover his creation for his visitors, but he was so close to finishing, he couldn’t stop now.

“Yes, come in, I’ll be with you in a second!” He called, wrist deep in the unconscious baboon’s guts.

“It’s me, Doktor,” He heard from behind him as he began cutting the baboon’s intestines free.

“Ah, Misha,” Ludwig hummed. “Come see what I’ve been working on!”

Ludwig pushed his glasses up with his wrist in an attempt to keep his face clean, managing to get blood smeared across it anyways. He picked up the monkey’s intestines, placing them in a nearby bag. 

“I am trying to see if I can successfully replace a primate’s digestive system with that of a cow’s. Of course, we would need to culture the correct bacteria for the primate’s diet; cows are herbivores after all. I believe with the extra stomachs, a human would be able to extract many more nutrients and not only be able to survive with less food, but be able to thrive past the limits of the current body. Really, the hardest part was finding organs in the correct size.”

After clearing the baboon’s abdomen, he glanced over to the bag containing the cow’s digestive system. The bag was already open and there was a white fluttering inside.

“Archimedes!” Ludwig scolded, shooing the bird from the bag. “Get out of there! You know how long it took me to prepare those!”

“I brought sandwich,” Misha interrupted. “Have you eaten?”

Ludwig looked over at the larger man. He had failed to notice the plate he was holding. 

“So you did,” Ludwig replied. He took the plate, the blood covering his gloves spreading onto it. He set it on the table next to the bag now filled with baboon organs.

“Could you do me a favor?” He asked, closing the bag in question and holding it out to the other man with a smile. “Could you put this in the bottom drawer of the fridge, bitte?”

The Heavy hesitated before grabbing the bag, careful not to get any of the blood on his hands. “Da.” 

He dug around through the Medic’s fridge as he began aligning the cow’s stomachs. There were some food scraps near test tubes of unknown liquids under what he could only describe as unlabeled viscera. But this is what he had come to expect of the man. When he got on a line of thought, there was nothing anyone could do to pull him off.

He found the drawer in question, already containing a decent amount of mostly dried blood, and carefully placed the bag inside. He closed the fridge and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. By the time he finished and returned to the doctor’s side, he was already making the final stitches connecting the foreign tissues together. 

“Perfekt,” The Medic spoke to himself. He placed the sutures on the table beside him and reached up for his Medi-Gun. The determined glint in his eyes and that sharpness of his wide smile was not unfamiliar to Misha, but he didn't think it would ever be something he could get used to.

Within a few seconds the primate’s wounds healed and closed, leaving only a scar behind. If he was not here and did not know Ludwig as he did, he wouldn’t believe there was anything different with the monkey.

“Now where did I put the smelling salts…” The Medic asked himself.

“Doktor,” Misha interjected. “Now that you are done, you can take break, da?”

Misha picked the sandwich back up and held it for the Medic. Ludwig looked at him, to the sandwich, and back and sighed.

“Yes, very well,” He huffed. He pushed his glasses up once more before removing his gloves and setting them on the table next to the unconscious baboon.

He took a seat on the empty examination table and beckoned the Heavy over. Misha sat next to the German and wiped the bloody fingerprints off the plate. He offered the plate to the other, wiping the blood onto his pants.

Ludwig took the plate, looking at the sandwich. “Did you want some?” He asked.

“Already ate.”

“I see.” 

The Medic picked up the sandwich, looking at it for a few long moments before taking a small bite out of it. It was good, but Ludwig was not one for eating. Usually one of his other counterparts took care of that issue for him, allowing him to work undisturbed, but he could if he had to. It just made him uncomfortable.

He took a few more slow bites in a comfortable silence with his alter’s partner. Despite the fact that he didn’t say much (or maybe because of it), Ludwig found his companionship bearable. As he ate, he drifted, brain fog overwhelming him. Subconsciously, he leaned silently on the larger man’s arm without realizing. His bites became slower and slower before they eventually stopped entirely. 

The man sat almost unblinking for minutes on end, but Misha didn’t mind. Eventually, however, the Medic rolled his face into Misha’s arm with a quiet whine. He felt a soft bite on his arm and when he looked over, he saw the man’s soft pleading eyes looking up at him.

“Hello, Little Doktor,” He said softly. The other man hid his face again. “It is late, da? Time for bed?” He felt Klaus nod into his arm. “Then let us get you cleaned up. Would you like me to bring something else to wear?”

The pleading eyes returned with a nod. “I need arm.” The smaller man blushed, burying his face into the arm before pulling away, hiding his face in his hands. 

Misha stood up and headed to the spare closet. There were various things that the Heavy didn’t even try to understand as well as a few pairs of pajamas. He pulled a pair off the hanger and carried them back to the table.

He set the clothes beside Klaus and pointed behind him to the baboon. “Where monkey friend live?”

Klaus looked at the primate for a few moments before pointing to an open cage in the corner of the room. Misha nodded, helping the man out of his bloodstained lab coat. He picked up the remains of the sandwich and returned to the fridge, letting the man change into his pajamas alone. After finding a suitable spot for the sandwich and gently returning the baboon to its cage, he returned to the Medic, now in soft pajamas. He held out his arms.

“Heavy carry Little Doktor to bed?” He asked. 

The man nodded a little excitedly and held out his hands to be picked up. Once in his arms, Klaus nestled his face into Heavy’s chest and allowed himself to be taken out of the Med Lab. By the time they had reached the doctor’s living quarters, he was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for you all to meet Medic's little this chapter, but that's how it goes, I guess.


	8. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy stressed.

Spy didn’t know why he found himself showing up to Sniper’s camper at this time of night, but there he was. He stood outside the door for much longer than he cared to admit, either building up the courage to knock or convincing himself to leave. In the end, he didn’t have to.

“Did ya want to stand out here on my doorstep all night or were you planning on knockin’?” Spy looked up and saw Sniper standing smugly in the open doorway in front of him.

“I have half a mind to turn around right now,” Spy said indignantly.

“And come all the way out here for nothin?” He asked. He slid out of the door frame, allowing entry. “Nah, mate, ‘least come in and have a coffee or somethin’.”

Spy hesitated, looking the man up and down. “Fine.” He took a step inside.

The Australian’s van was small and had necessities littered on nearly every flat surface. Some may consider it cozy and homely, but Spy just thought it felt cramped.

“Have a seat,” He said, motioning to the only two seats in the camper. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. Wasn’t expecting company.”

He pulled a mug out of the cabinets and set it next to an already humming coffee machine. It appeared halfway done brewing already and there was a mug already set out.

“Coffee should be done in a jiffy.”

“Right,” Spy said, matter of factly.

“So what brings ya to my humble abode?” Sniper asked.

Spy was silent for a while and barely realized that he had pulled out his knife and begun flipping it around in his hand. It was different from the pattern that he normally repeated, longer and more complex, but he did it just as absentmindedly. 

Truth be told, he didn’t know why he came to Sniper. Maybe it was because he was quiet and reclusive. Something told him the things he would say in this van would stay in this van.

“I’m… stressed,” He admitted, mulling over every word.

Sniper nodded. “Coffee’s ready. How d’ya take it?”

“Um. Cream and sugar.” Spy said simply.

Sniper opened his fridge, looking inside. “Uhhh… is milk okay?” He asked, putting out a small jug of milk.

Spy sighed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Within a few moments, Sniper sat in the unoccupied seat across from Spy, handing him his coffee. Spy muttered a thank you, his spare hand never stopping with his knife.

“So, what’s got you wound up?” Sniper asked plainly. 

Spy supposed he should have expected this, but for some reason he didn’t, at least not so quickly. He didn’t really want to expose what was bothering him, but he had come all the way out here.

“I’m… concerned about my… performance today.” He stated plainly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Ah, yeah,” Sniper said. “Well, don’t worry about it too much. There’s always tomorrow.”

“Right.”

“Besides, the BLU Spy didn’t seem to be doin’ quite his job today either.” Sniper smirked.

“Oh?” Spy raised an eyebrow, masking his concern.

“Yeah, he seemed to have a hard on for Soldier today,” Sniper chuckled. “Not that that bastard didn’t deserve it, but it seems a strange target for a Spy.” He winked.

Spy did his best to mask his embarrassment, but his knife hand sped up and after a few seconds, he almost dropped his knife. He felt thankful that his red balaclava hid the red in his face.

“Ay, no reason to get worked up, ‘s none a my business,” Sniper said, taking a drink of his coffee.

Spy took a long drink of his own before speaking. “I’m not worked up.”

He set his coffee down and pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket.

“Oi, nope, no smokin’ in ‘ere!” Sniper said quickly. “If y’ gonna do it, y’ gotta go outside.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, bushman. It’s a van,” Spy said, annoyed.

“Nope. It may be a van, but it’s my van. My van, my rules.”

Spy grumbled, putting the metal case away. “Fine.”

Sniper thought for a moment. “Here, let me…” 

Sniper set down his coffee and Spy watched him dig through some blankets at the foot of his bed before pulling one out. It was quilted and was a dusty yellow hue with illustrations of what appeared to be wombats and dingoes printed on it.

“Me mum made me this,” He said plainly, approaching Spy. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Spy looked at the blanket in question. A blanket wouldn’t help him, certainly not one that looked like _that._

“ _Non,_ no thank you.” He said.

“Nonsense,” Sniper replied. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back, but you have to at least try it.”

Spy flipped his knife closed. “I don’t have to try anything, bushm-”

He was quickly silenced with the weight spread over him. He was surprised to find he enjoyed the feeling. He enjoyed the pressure on top of him. He didn’t know something like this existed, but he was even more surprised that he didn’t hate it. If you had proposed such an idea to him before, he would have insisted he would hate it, that he would feel trapped. But he didn’t feel trapped. He felt comforted.

“That good, eh?” Sniper chuckled. Spy felt the urge to respond, but it immediately died before it even reached his throat. He didn’t think he could speak if he wanted to. Sniper sipped some of his coffee before speaking up again. “I can take that back from you if you-”

Spy hissed. He didn’t know where it came from. He was somehow more embarrassed than before. He wanted to give a quip or say something to save face, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He was suppressed by the pressure from the blanket.

“Okay,” Sniper chuckled, sitting back down. “Stay there as long as you like, but I want it back at some point.”

Spy sat in silence, relaxing and wondering why the man was offering him hospitality, wondering why a simple blanket could erase his worries so efficiently. The two sat there in silence, not speaking, but merely enjoying each other’s presence. Before he noticed what was happening, Spy had drifted off to sleep.


	9. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper convinces Spy to have coffee with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for these to be connected other than them being the same people, but Spy care too much.

Sniper had forgotten to buy coffee. Fantastic. He would have to make the trip into Teufort after work. While that was an awful thought already, he knew what the worse news was. He would have to grab coffee from the shared kitchen inside the base. He dreaded the thought. The kitchen was too loud in the mornings and would almost definitely ruin his appetite. He didn’t understand how so few men could make so much noise so early in the morning. Most of them weren’t too bad on their own, but when you put them all together trying to fight each other for such a tiny kitchen, it was as if all hell broke loose.

With a tired sigh, he grabbed his thermos and mug, slipped on a jacket, and stepped out of his camper. How could he have forgotten his most important resource? Sure, some could say food was important, or bullets, but he couldn’t put food on the table asleep and the battlefield was constantly littered with ammo packs. 

Within a few minutes, he reached the base. After stepping inside, it wasn’t long before he started hearing the noise. He groaned. He wasn’t even close yet and the noise of men yelling and dishes clashing was enough to tie a knot in his stomach. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. He could do this.

He made his way over, stalling to avoid the dreaded blast zone for as long as possible. When he got to the kitchen, though, it was even worse than he imagined. The room was utter chaos. He skirted past the Pyro, who had grabbed food and was taking it back to their room, and barely dodged the Soldier, whose precarious stack of waffles would’ve caused not only a shouting match, but a sticky mess on its unfortunate victim. The Demoman was nearly half asleep in his bowl of cereal.

“Heya, Snipes!” Scout shouted at him through a mouth full of sticky waffles.

“Hey, mate,” Sniper responded quietly, cringing a little bit at the situation. 

He slipped past the table and over to the counter where the Engineer was doing the dishes.

“What brings you over this fine morning?” The Texan asked.

“Coffee,” Sniper said, unscrewing his thermos. “Ran out in my camper.”

The Engineer nodded. “Well, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Thanks.”

He filled his thermos quickly and began filling his mug in turn, eager to get out of this nightmare of a kitchen as soon as possible. Scout may have been trying to talk to him, but he couldn’t tell. He quickly screwed the lid onto his canteen and skirted away from the counter. He was on his way back out the door when he noticed the figure in the corner.

The Spy was sitting in the corner and looked like hell, no doubt the same hell he looked like himself. He had coffee in one hand that he didn’t appear to be drinking at any reasonable rate and was doing that thing he did with his knife in the other. Sniper sighed. He couldn’t just leave him like this. He walked over.

“Mornin’, Spook.”

The Spy looked up at him, a hard look on his face. “What?”

“Woof,” The Sniper said in response. “Wanna talk in the hall real quick? Can’t hear anything in here.”

The Spy glanced him over, probably seeking an ulterior motive or something. Upon finding none, he put his knife away and stood. “Make it quick, bushman. I’m trying to enjoy my coffee.”

Sniper looked the Spy over and led him into the hall without saying anything. He didn’t appear to be enjoying anything in there, much less his coffee. Once a good distance away, he waited for Spy to catch up and get situated before speaking.

“Sorry, mate,” He said calmly. “‘S just really hard for me to talk in there.”

The Spy raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent, taking the opportunity to drink some of his coffee.

“Anyways, the point was, I saw you sittin’ there and you looked really uncomfortable, so I thought I’d offer a quieter place for you to sit in the mornings,” He said awkwardly. He shrugged. “If you wanted. You don’t have to, I just… thought I’d offer…”

Spy was silent for a few seconds before responding. “What, in your van?”

Sniper shrugged again. “Well, yeah, I mean… It’s just me in there, I got a space heater till it gets too cold, and the seats are a lot better than those old stools in there.” He pointed back towards the kitchen.

“What makes you think I would want to have coffee with you in your van?” Spy crossed his free arm.

“Well, I can tell you for certain it’ll be better than sittin’ in that mess in there,” He said. “Plus, whether you want to admit it or not, a man needs company.” He shrugged. “I mean, I guess you  _ could _ find your company in Pyro… or Demo… or  _ Soldier. _ ”

The look on Spy’s face told him he hit a sore spot. “Sorry, mate, none of my business.”

Spy scoffed. “Of course it isn’t.” He said before taking another drink. “Fine. I will come, but only because it is easier to deal with one wild animal rather than five.”

Sniper chuckled. “Yeah, that seems about right.” He turned to continue walking, looking back to Spy only briefly. “Then come on, if ya comin’.”

The two made their way back to Sniper’s camper and Sniper immediately sprawled across the couch, setting his thermos on the ground nearby and holding his black coffee lazily. Spy cleared his throat. It took Sniper a second to realize Spy was waiting for him to move his legs. He pointed to the spare chair across from the couch he was sitting on. Spy sighed and sat down, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sniper said with a smirk. “I didn’t realize  _ Your Majesty _ wanted to sit next to me.”

“I didn’t,” Spy said coldly. “I had just assumed you had more manners.”

“Well, why’d you assume that?” He asked.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected as much of you,” Spy bit back.

Sniper laughed and shook his head. They sat in silence together for a while, sipping their coffees in peace. Sniper was the one to break the silence.

“Scout’s doing better,” He said. Spy coughed on his mouthful of coffee. “I mean, I’m sure you weren’t concerned, but I figured you might want to know.”

Spy looked carefully at him as he swallowed his mouthful of coffee, covering his mouth with his wrist. There was a second of silence even after he swallowed.

“What do you know of my relationship to Scout?” He demanded.

Sniper blinked and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well. I, um… I guess I don’t. You just seemed upset, and I wanted to let you know I checked up on him. He seemed pretty upset when he thought you were mad at him, though.”

“Why would he think that?”

“I dunno,” Sniper shrugged. “When you’re in a stressful situation, your brain can just run away from ya, y’know?” He looked Spy up and down. “I told him you weren’t, though.”

“And on what grounds do you think you know my feelings?” Spy growled defensively.

“Well, I don’t know, mate, I was just tryin’ to make the kid feel better,” Sniper crossed his arms. “Besides, Scout didn’t happen to be the one that got the blunt end of the respawn system.”

“What are you implying?” Spy lashed.

“I ain’t implyin’ nothin’! I’m just tryna look out for the kid!” Sniper hadn’t realized he had raised his voice until he had already shouted. “Sorry. ‘S none a’ my business.”

Sniper knew he fucked up. This was supposed to be a nice reprieve for Spy, but like always, he’d gone and said the wrong thing. Spy stood.

“Wait, I’m sorry, mate,” Sniper said quickly. “I didn’t-”

“Save it.” Spy turned and walked out the door, flipping his cigarette case open in the process.

  
Sniper sighed, setting his coffee cup down and holding his head in his hands.  _ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for this chapter to be angsty, but...
> 
> Sniper was just tryna let him know :(


	10. Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus arrives on the scene.

The RED team lost the battle that day. They had all done their best, but in their neverending stalemate, they could not win every battle. Everyone was in a particularly bad mood because of it. Soldier and Demo were muttering between themselves. Scout was quieter and dragged his bat behind him. The Spy didn’t even return through resupply. Even the ever cheerful Pyro was brought down a shade.

Wilhelm remained silent as he unsuited. He removed his Med-Pack and disconnected it from the Medi-Gun. He hung the pack in his locker and straightened the front of his coat.

“How you feeling, Doktor?” Misha asked, coming up carefully behind his Medic. He knew Wilhelm had roughed more than a few trips through respawn from a Spy’s backstab.

“Fine.” He said simply. 

He hefted the Medi-Gun off the bench, quick to leave Resupply. The Heavy knew this silence and followed swiftly behind. Despite his best efforts, the smaller man out paced him. He was concerned, but knew he was headed to his lab. Upon reaching the room, he found the door had been left slightly ajar. Misha let himself in. 

There was a bit of a mess around the Med Lab, noticeable to Misha’s familiar eye. The Medi-Gun had been left on a previously empty examination table instead of being properly reattached to its arm. On the table next to it was the Medic’s blood splattered lab coat, now crumpled. Wilhelm’s boots sat haphazardly on the floor nearby, leading to a closet door left barely ajar.

Heavy carefully folded the lab coat and replaced it on the table before straightening the pair of boots and making his way to the closet. He gently gave a quiet knock, hearing a small yelp from inside.   
  


“Heavy come in, da?” He asked gently. There was a little noise from inside, and he carefully pulled open the door.

The Medic sat on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest. He was wrapped tight in a blanket, covering his face completely aside from his soft eyes. Klaus’ eyes looked up to him with a cautious curiosity. Heavy gave a reassuring smile and sat down, just outside of the closet. The smaller man’s hand appeared briefly to poke the ground in front of him.

“You want Heavy to sit inside?” A nod. “Not sure will fit, but…”

Misha slid sideways into the doorway and soon was sitting in the doorframe. Within a second, Klaus was scooting onto the Heavy’s lap, head burrowing into his leg. The larger man put a gentle hand onto the other’s back.

They stayed sitting like this for a while and the Medic eventually relaxed a bit. One might assume he had fallen asleep, but Misha could tell he was not. He noticed the flinch at every barely audible noise or slightly too heavy footstep from above. But the Heavy’s stable hand never wavered.

There was a hard knock at the door, scaring Klaus back into the closet with a start. 

“Yo! Hey, Doc!” Klaus’ wide eyed stare was full of fear.

“I will answer,” Heavy said, pushing himself off the ground. “Will be back.”

Misha softly slid the door back into the place he found it before heading to the door to the lab. He opened it just enough for him to get out and closed it behind him. He looked at the Scout.

“Doktor busy,” He said. “What you need?”

Klaus heard the sound of the Lab door open and flinched as it clicked shut. He could hear his Heavy’s voice softly, low and warm. Almost as soon as it started, it was replaced with the loud, shrill voice of the Scout, the change making him flinch again.

He felt guilty. He knew he shouldn’t, but the Scout needed something, and he was too small to do anything to help. The most he could do was hide in his closet, hoping not to be perceived. He dug his face into his legs, rubbing the side of his face against the blanket material. He bit his knee as he heard Scout’s whine again.

He wanted to help, he did, but he couldn’t even talk. He could probably get the Medi-Gun working if he needed to, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to lift it. His brow furrowed, trying to think of a solution. He covered his face with the blanket and ground his forehead into his knees.

He hadn’t noticed the silence until he heard the lab door click closed again. He jumped, the worried expression returning to his face as he drew as far back into his corner as he could. There was a light knock at his door, and he froze. He stayed as still as possible and even his breathing silenced.

“Just me,” The voice on the other side said gently. 

The door opened steadily, revealing only his Mim, his Heavy. Though his anxiety was partially quelled, it was not fully gone. Misha returned to his position, holding his arms out in invitation.

“Scout come back later,” He said. 

Klaus slithered into his Mim’s arms and shoved his face into his stomach. He was comforted by the man’s embrace and only then would his anxieties really start to recede. He took a small, gentle bite from the larger man’s shirt and nuzzled further into his chest. His blanket wrapping acted almost as a protective shell as he pulled it over his face.

“Little Doktor need anything?” Mim asked.

He shook his head no, making a satisfied hum and curling tighter in his arms. He would be content to stay here for hours, or at least until someone else wanted to show up and do something.

“Okay,” The large man replied, gently placing his head on top of the little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so hard for me to write scenes with Klaus bc my littles show up and are like "Did I hear someone say baby?? :eyes:"
> 
> Also Mim is pronounced Meem (or like meme) and is short for Misha


	11. Comic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout has a hyperfixation

Scout ripped at the top of the package envelope addressed to him. He peeked an eye inside the difficult plastic as he struggled with it.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes!!” His tone grew louder with excitement. “PYRO!”

He pulled at the hole he had created as he started quickly down the hall towards Pyro’s room. It wasn’t long before he broke into a sprint.

“PYROOO!!!” He called, skidding to a halt outside their door. He banged on the door before yanking at the last bit of the plastic prison with his teeth. “PYRO!”

The door opened, revealing a confused looking Pyro.

“Pyro, look what just came in!” Scout said, yanking free his prize. He proudly presented the contents of his package: a comic book, freshly printed. “ _Saxton Hale’s Thrilling Tales #93: Skeletons and Vultures!_ ” Scout eagerly flipped through the pages. “In this episode, Saxton Hale has to fight his way through a graveyard!”

Pyro peeked over his shoulder, his question masked by his mask.

“What?” Scout looked at them confused. “No, why would they be alive? The graveyard’s full a dead guys!” 

He showed them the page he was on. It was a two page action shot depicting Saxton Hale punching his way through the wall of a mausoleum, sending bones and partial skeletons flying in explosive victory.

The Engineer poked his head out of a nearby room. “What’s all the hubbub?” 

Scout closed the book and held it up for the Engineer to see. “ _Saxton Hale’s Thrilling Tales #93: Skeletons and Vultures!_ It’s the most recent episode in the _Saxton Hale’s Thrilling Tales_ series! You don’t have to read the other 92 episodes to understand what’s going on, but I have ‘em if you want to read them! In this episode, Saxton Hale has to fight his way through a graveyard!”

The Engineer looked the comic over. “What, is there like zombies or somethin’ around?”

Scout looked exasperated. “No!! The graveyard’s full of _dead guys!_ ” He repeated. “There’s no weird magic stuff, no stupid necromancy or whatever, but I’ll tell you what it _does_ have.” 

He took back the book and flipped through the pages before finding one suitable. He turned it back around, pointing to a panel of Saxton Hale punching the glasses off a hippie.

“Violence!”

The Engineer chuckled. “So it does.”

Scout returned to looking over the book with Pyro. “If you wanna read ‘em I can loan you some of my copies,” He said. He looked up sternly. “But you gotta promise to keep it clean! No oil, no rips, no creasing the pages, nada.”

The Engineer chuckled once again, nodding. “Got it.”

“If you don’t want to read all 92, I guess I can understand, I’ll help ya’ out. I’ll pick you out the best ones and lend ya’ those. But it won’t give ya’ the same effect as readin’ all 93 of em.” The Pyro gently turned the page under the Scout’s hands. “Hey, wait, hold on, I ain’t done with this page!”

Scout flipped the page back and was instantly glued to the story.

“Alrighty then, I gotta get back to work in here,” He pointed back into his room. “You two enjoy your comics, alright? Find yourselves a nice place t’ sit, m’kay?”

A nod from the two younger mercenaries and some murmurs of agreement, but they were both engulfed in the book. Pyro glanced up briefly to give the Engineer and thumbs up before returning back to their book. Dell chuckled once more as he went back into his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyro uses they/he pronouns.
> 
> Also, I just received my first dose of COVID vaccination, so I'm gonna be writing for comfort for a bit. (Not that the whole thing wasn't for comfort, but...)


	12. Laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelm does the laundry.

Wilhelm looked disheartened at the basket of lab coats he had been putting off. It was going to be a pain to get the sheer amount of blood out of them. But he only had one coat that was clean, and he’d kill Ludwig himself if he found any of his shirts thoroughly stained with blood.

He sighed, beginning to fill a large tub with warm water. As it filled, he poured the tiniest amount of liquid soap into the bath. He pulled the first coat out of the basket and examined it. The front was red from the neck to the bottom hem, only the shoulders appearing to be spared the bloody fate. The bottom half of the sleeves seemed mostly clean thanks to the red rubber gloves they shared, but there were a few spots where the blood had trickled through.

He scoffed and placed the coat in the now full tub, shutting the water off. It almost amazed him how thoroughly his manic counterpart managed to soak through his clothes. As he placed the rest of the coats in the now red water, he casually wondered how Johann dealt with it. 

He knew the poor fellow had to clean up most of Ludwig’s messes already, cleaning blood from various unknown sources from places he would hopefully never learn about. The amount of blood on the coats told him that these were not the only things to get stained, but the lab was almost always spotless when he was around. Not to mention his bloodthirsty little bird he had to clean nearly as often, if not more. 

After he set the last coat in the water, he pressed them all down into the bottom of the tub. The water was much redder than he would have liked. He lifted the tub to the sink and poured out the water in favor of new soapy water. 

Soon enough, the tub was filled once more and after a few more presses into the water, he pulled the first coat back out. It was slightly less red, but it could still use a lot of care. He put a generous amount of soap onto the coat and began scrubbing it harshly with a cleaning brush. 

With a few minutes of elbow grease, the coat had come mostly clean. With a small triumphant smirk, he placed the coat into the washing machine beside him. With a run through the machine and some bleach, they would come out looking brand new. Those other bastards had better appreciate him.

_ Oh, you’re one to talk, _ Johann teased him playfully. This small banter caused him to smile a bit and roll his eyes as he grabbed the next coat.

_ Oh, I assume it’s SO difficult to do nothing but stay home and care for your pigeons all day. _ He could feel Johann’s urge to smack him. 

_ They are DOVES, and you know this about them. _ He knew Johann was crossing his arms in a huff.  _ And Archimedes and Ludwig always get themselves into such big messes. I’m sure you know that much. _

Wilhelm chuckled a little bit as he nodded. Perhaps having a companion would make this tedium go by that much faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapters guys I've been busy haha.


	13. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stalled this episode long enough. The Sny has returned.

Sniper stood outside the door to Spy’s room, leaning against the wall. He had two cups of coffee in his hands and his rifle strapped to his back. He didn’t know how long he was going to have to stand there, and he didn’t want to have to run back to his camper to get his gear.

He hadn’t seen the Spy in his normal smoking spot and checked the kitchen briefly to see him missing. That left his room. He hadn’t seen him around at all for a couple of days, actually. He assumed Spy had been doing that on purpose. He was trying to apologize, but the Spook wasn’t making it easy for him.

There were a few soft clicks and the door opened. Sniper stepped in the doorway, blocking the man’s exit.

“Spy,” He said. He held out one of the cups. “Made you coffee.”

The Spy looked at him for a second, looked at the coffee, and moved to close the door. The door caught right before it closed. The two looked down to see Sniper’s heavy boot preventing its close.

“Just wanna talk, mate,” He said, offering the coffee once again.

“Not a chance, bushman,” The Spy said, slamming the door against his foot.

“Okay,” The Sniper said unflinching before taking a sip of his own coffee. “I’m just gonna stand right here then.”

The Spy growled and stomped at the man’s shoe, feeling it surrender no ground.

“Steel toes, mate,” The Australian said calmly. “We can have this conversation over coffee in the privacy of your room or we can have it right here. In the hallway.”

Spy was outraged. He snarled at the Sniper, giving the door a final shove before releasing it and slinking back into his room defeated.

“Thank you,” Sniper said sweetly as the door released. 

He gently pushed the door open with his foot before coming inside. The room was a dimly lit, well furnished room that looked like it was too expensive for him to even look at, much less be allowed to stand in. 

“Nice place ya’ got,” He said. He raised the Spy’s coffee up once again. “I didn’t quite remember how y’ took your coffee, but I tried my best.”

The Spy scoffed angrily looking once again between the Australian and the offered coffee. He hesitated a second more before snatching it. 

“What do you have to say to me, bushman?” He asked before putting the smallest amount of the coffee on his tongue. He didn’t think the man had the subtlety to poison him, but underestimation would not be his downfall.

The sniper looked into his own black coffee. “Well… I came to apologize. I was gonna figure out how to do it some other way, but you’ve been avoiding me, so I couldn’t just ask ye to talk.” He glanced up at the Spy. “So… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t’ upset ya in my van. I didn’t mean to shout neither.” He looked back down into his drink. “Y’ don’t have to talk about anythin’ you don’t want to, but I just wanna know why I upset ya so I don’t do it again.” He glanced up to see how the Spy was receiving the information. 

Spy drank a mouthful of the decidedly not poisoned coffee before looking at him silently for a moment. He spoke cautiously and carefully, as if each word was planned.

“You will not have to worry about that,” He said. “I do not plan to have any more contact with you.”

Sniper blanched. “W- What…” He fumbled with his words. “I- But… Y… You can’t do that!”

Spy raised an eyebrow. “I was doing a pretty good job before you jammed your foot in my door this morning.”

“No, w… What I’m sayin’ is…” Sniper was shaking but he forced his gaze into his coffee. 

His coffee. He took a long drink in an attempt to ground himself and to keep himself level headed. He took a deep breath, still intensely focused on his coffee. 

“Why?” He asked, only barely quelling his shaking.

“Why what?” Spy asked coolly. He didn’t seem moved at all.

“I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just wanna know why you’re cuttin’ me… out of…” He trailed off. “I wanna know what I did wrong.”

Spy looked the man over and sipped his coffee. He did not understand why the Sniper was getting so upset.

“Don’t take it so personally, bushman,” He said.

“How can I  _ not _ take it personally?” The Australian cried. The Spy looked a little surprised. “You can’t cut off our  _ personal _ relationship and expect me to not take it personally.”

Spy didn’t know what to say. He had not expected this meeting to happen at all, much less for this man to hunt him down to blubber at his feet. He didn’t understand why this was such a hard thing for the Australian to accept. 

“I don’t understand what is so hard to grasp,” He said. “If a mission’s circumstances become unfavorable, you leave so as not to get yourself k-”

“I’M NOT A FUCKIN MISSION, MATE!” He yelled. The Spy looked concerned and maybe a little… scared? Sniper took a shaky breath. “I’m not a mission, I’m a livin’, breathin’ person who don’t hate you, and I’m just tryna find out why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” The Spy said simply. “I made an irreparable mistake. If I hated you, you would be dead.” 

Sniper was stunned, taking a full minute to process the information. He set his coffee down and sat on the floor, his head swimming. He thought about the inciting event more, trying to find what Spy would consider his mistake.   
  
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” He said softly after some time. “I’m not mad at ya’ for gettin’ upset… I couldn’t be, I was the one that upset ya’…”

“I was  _ Not. Upset _ ,” The Spy retorted defensively in almost a growl.

Sniper hesitated. “Just like you’re not upset now?”

Spy froze. “Yes.” He pressed.

Sniper stood, picking up his coffee and wiping his eyes under his glasses. “Okay.” He said, finally calming down from his shakes. “Well. I have t’ go clean myself up before work.” He sniffed a bit as he approached the door. 

“I’d like that cup back when you’re done with it.” He said as the door opened. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Without another word, the door closed behind him leaving Spy alone with a mug reading simply “Duck.”


	14. Chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't technically strictly "neurodiversity representation" in the same way the others are, but it's sort of a sequel to Meltdown.
> 
> This was sort of based on [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya-7GNE4tQE) video by ChiliofDestiny, so excuse my egregious use of copypasta lol

Scout drummed cheerily on the dashboard of the van as Sniper pulled into the road. His mood had skyrocketed since that morning. He had been a devastating force to be reckoned with, keeping the BLU Medic running back from respawn all day and being a general nuisance to the rest of the BLUs. They won that day, and he knew it was because of him.

“So where we goin’, ‘roo?” Sniper asked.

Sniper had followed through on his promise to take him to get something to eat after work, and he was going to make the best of it.

“D’ya even have to ask?” He chuckled, leaning back into his seat, looking forward to Sniper. “Conquistador’s!”

Sniper nodded, glancing back at Jeremy for just a second.

“Okay,” He said. “You know what you want?”

Scout shrugged, lounging back fully now, tapping his foot a bit absentmindedly. “Nah, I’ll figure it out when we get there.”

The two passed friendly banter back and forth as they drove. It was a good 30 minutes into town, so they were taking their time to unwind from the day. Eventually, the banter faded into a soft silence, the desert views almost lulling Scout to sleep. After what seemed like no time at all, they arrived. 

“Alright!” Scout said excitedly, hopping out of the vehicle. “Hell yeah!”

He stretched and shook the ride out of his bones as he made his way to the front of the van. Sniper joined him with a yawn and a stretch of his own.

“Aw, man, come on!” He said, failing to stifle a yawn. “You know that shit’s contagious!”

Sniper shrugged and locked the van. “Let’s go get some chicken, yeah?”

Scout’s previous concerns were completely abandoned at the suggestion as he jumped to the door. 

“Yeah, alright, Snipes, come on then!” He said, throwing the door open and going inside.

The restaurant was small and a bit dingy on the inside, the once white tiling that covered the walls and floor were yellow and dirty, but Scout knew that just meant it was well-loved like people said about books or whatever. It had the feel of a diner and a fast food restaurant at the same time and brought up good memories of chicken buckets past. He took a second to take it all in before glancing behind him briefly to the Sniper.

“You go ahead,” He said, looking at the menu. “I dunno what I want yet.”

Scout nodded and walked up to the counter. 

“Hey there,” He said, looking up to the menu briefly. “Could I get… uh… two number 9s… a number 9 large… a number 6 with extra dip… um… a number 7… two number 45s, one with cheese, and, uh, a large soda.”

The cashier punched in his order drearily. 

“Will that be all for you?” They asked. Scout looked back to the Sniper who had made his way up behind him while he was ordering.

“Yeah, I’ll just take a… just a number 9, I guess.”

The cashier nodded and rang up the order. While Sniper paid, Scout filled his drink cup up at the fountain and found a good booth to eat. After a few minutes, Sniper joined him with a tray full of food and a bucket of chicken. 

“Aw hell yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Scout said, pulling the tray towards him, immediately digging in. 

Sniper chuckled, carefully pulling a sandwich from the tray. 

“Better watch my hands, hadn’t I?” He joked. “Ankles ain’t gonna be the only thing ya bitin’.”

Scout said something in rebuttal, but his mouth was full of food.

“What’s that, Pyro?” He said with a grin. Scout kicked him playfully under the table.

The two ate and bantered for almost an hour as the events of the morning seemed to melt away. Scout had seemed to have returned to his usual hyper self, egged further on by the large soft drink he had drank and refilled at least twice. By the time they went to leave, Scout was bouncing off the walls like he usually did. 

It made Sniper happy to see him feeling better and would tolerate a hectic drive back for it. But it wasn’t actually bad at all. About five minutes into the drive back, Scout fell fast asleep and stayed asleep. Even after they arrived back at the base, he wouldn’t be roused.

“Ey, we’re back,” Sniper said after pulling his camper back into place. He looked over at him and saw Scout curled up in the chair. 

“Jeremy,” He said to him, with no response. “Eh, you’re really conked out, ain’tcha?”

Upon receiving no response for the third time, he sighed. He couldn’t leave him sitting up here in the seat. He stood up and gently picked up the boy, careful not to wake him. He silently set the boy down in his bed and pulled the covers over him. Scout immediately curled back up around the blankets as if he was always there. Sniper looked at him for a few seconds in a loving silence before grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from the bed.

“G’night, Jeremy,” He said softly before tossing the pillow on the couch and making himself comfortable there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing another fic! It's going to be a DadSpy fic that actually has a cohesive plot thread unlike this one. The first chapter is already up [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414139/chapters/72260853)!


	15. Crayon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyro meets our neighborhood smol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our little helped with this one. Cooperation makes these chapters much easier to write haha.

Klaus sat in his closet, chewing heartily on a rubber contraption Ludwig had made for him. He was in comfortable clothes and sat with his blanket draped around his arms. It was dark, illuminated only by a sliver of light let in through the crack in the door he left open. This was his place to sit and exist and he planned to do just that, at least for a little while. The squeak of the rubber and the resistance under his bite were enough to keep his attention as he settled further into his comfort corner.

There was a knock on his lab door, so soft he almost didn’t hear it. But he did. His chewing silenced as he listened to the footsteps walk into the Med Lab. They weren’t his Mim’s. He couldn’t place them. 

There was a muffled call and he wrapped himself up in his blanket. If he stayed silent and still, he could pass as being out. If he didn’t make a sound, they wouldn’t know he was here.

The footsteps slowed and stopped outside of his closet. He held his breath as he saw the line of light darken as a shadow stood in front of it. Fear froze him as the door started to open.

He could do nothing but stare as he looked directly into the glass eyes of the gas mask staring down at him. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t. Words weren’t something he could do in the best of circumstances, but definitely couldn’t do it now. His chest started to burn as his breath stayed held, scared eyes transfixed on the unblinking stare before him.

The Pyro took a step back and put their hands up carefully in an attempt to allay his fears. He took another step back and slowly sat down, keeping his hands in sight. After a few seconds of staring, Klaus carefully, quietly released his breath, eyes never leaving the figure in front of him. 

They sat for a while just staring at each other before Pyro moved. Klaus flinched as their hands moved up, but they paused in reaction and resumed slower. They slowly reached into their bag and rummaged in it for a few moments. Klaus’ watchful eyes didn’t loosen for a second until they came back out, holding a small book and a box.

Klaus looked at it with a cautious curiosity as the Pyro slid the book in his direction. He looked to the book and then up to the man. The Pyro gave him an encouraging nod. Klaus snaked an arm out from the safety of his blanket to look at it closer. It appeared to be a coloring book.

He looked up at the Pyro who had opened the box he was holding. He carefully slid the contents of the box out and onto the floor in between them. Crayons. They looked up to Klaus and began to slide the crayons towards him. Klaus looked down at the book and back up to them shyly. Another nod from the Pyro encouraged them to open the book and flip through the pages.

He quickly found one he liked. On the page was a soft-looking teddy bear stitched right up the middle with big cartoony stitches. On the teddy’s chest was a heart carefully stitched in place in a similar fashion. Klaus scooted a little bit closer to the Pyro, showing them the picture he had chosen. They had to scoot a little closer to get a good look at it, a motion Klaus shyly accepted.

Upon seeing the picture he had chosen, they gave him an excited nod and carefully clapped. They began pulling colors he might want to use, browns, creams, greys, reds, and watched as he started to work.

~~~~~~~~~

Misha came down to the Med Lab with a portion of dinner when the Medic hadn’t shown up. He assumed Ludwig was caught up in a blaze of inspiration or that Wilhelm was working himself too hard as usual. When he arrived, however, it was silent. That eliminated the first option, at least. He gave a sturdy knock. 

“Doktor,” He said. “Is Heavy. Have food for you.”

He opened the door and saw not his Medic, but their Pyro sitting on the floor. He was sitting near an open closet with what appeared to be crayons on the ground. He looked around for a second before understanding what was happening. He approached his teammate, understandably a bit worried, knowing the little doctor’s aversion to his team. 

“Hello, Pyro.” The Pyro hummed and waved as he neared. “Is Doktor with you?”

There was a similar hum from within the closet. Misha looked inside to see Klaus smiling up at him. He was relieved to see him safe and comfortable. He set the plate of food on a nearby counter and sat down. 

“What have you two been doing?” He asked.

Klaus held up a piece of paper. It appeared to be a page of a coloring book. Klaus had colored in a bear in brown with a bright red heart held in place by light colored stitches. At the top of the page he had labeled it.  _ MIM _ , it read. The Pyro clapped as they looked at it.

“Is for me?” Klaus nodded strongly. “Thank you. Is very good.”

Heavy hugged the smaller Medic as he accepted the gift.

The next morning, Johann stretched and made his way to his refrigerator. Upon arriving, he noticed something new on the front.


	16. Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sny has returned once more! Spy has to return Sniper's mug.

Spy held the cleaned mug in his hand, staring at it intensely and took a drag from his cigarette. He didn’t know why he had waited until Sniper had returned. He could have snuck in during the day while Sniper was busy, but he did not. He clutched it tightly and thought his next move over carefully. 

He would approach this with the seriousness of an espionage. He would say what he needed to and pick up every single microexpression. He knew Sniper was not as different from his BLU counterpart as he expected, but he had no idea how similar their tells were. It didn’t matter. He was paid to be able to figure this out on the spot.

He flicked the butt of his third cigarette into the desert gravel and crushed it underfoot as he did with the rest. He pushed himself off the wall and slunk off in the direction of the bushman’s campervan.

After a short walk, he arrived. He planted three strong, concise knocks on the door and waited. Soon, the Australian opened the door. He seemed a little surprised, but was trying to hide it. His eyes moved over Spy almost frantically in a way that told him he was stressed or worried.

“Spy,” He stated. He sounded a bit taken aback. “What are you doin’ out here? I thought you said you didn’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

Spy could tell by the bite in his tone of voice that the fact bothered him. He found himself wondering why that would be, but brought himself back almost instantly. If he was going to treat this like a job, he must remain focused like a job.

“I came to return your cup,” He said, holding it up to him gently. “You said you wanted it back, so I am returning it.”

Sniper took the mug hesitantly, and Spy watched him eye it and the rogue over wearily before heading inside with it. He left the door open, and Spy got the feeling that was an invitation. He didn’t want to. He _really_ didn’t want to, but under his mission mindset, he could not leave a bystander suspicious in his extraction. He stepped inside the much too familiar van, closing the door behind him.

“Why?” The Sniper asked him, inspecting the cup before placing it in the cabinet. Spy noticed a microexpression telling he was pleasantly surprised to find it clean.

“Why am I returning your property to you after you specifically asked me to?” He asked rhetorically. “It seems to me that would not be something you should be surprised about.”

The Sniper looked up to him, cutting through the bullshit with a closed stance and crossed arms. “Why did you hand it to me in person? I know you coulda’ snuck in here any time you liked and went back to avoiding me like you were.”

Sniper sounded hurt and offended by Spy’s actions. It made Spy feel guilty, but he didn’t know why. Comfort is what the Sniper needed. That is what he did know.

“You sound like you wanted me to break into your property,” He chuckled on demand. “I would not wish to cross you any further than I have. Coming in person was the least I could do.”

Spy looked over the Sniper, reading his every move, his every muscle. He knew that the Sniper intended this encounter when he left the mug with him in the first place, but he didn’t say so. What Sniper wanted to hear was that he came because he wanted to, that he stayed to talk to him, and that he… was….

Sorry.

Was he sorry? It had to be done. Ties had to be cut and hatchets buried. But that didn’t matter. This was a job, and he would say what he needed to to appease this man. Could he? Something nagging in his brain told him that he couldn’t recite this speech for him, he couldn’t perform this well rehearsed play. 

Why couldn’t he lie to this Australian? His entire job was founded on lying and yet he found himself at a loss. Normally the words came without a second thought, without any meaning behind them. It felt… wrong… He didn’t know why it was an issue and that bothered him. 

“You good, Spook?” 

He was jettisoned back into reality. _Merde._ It had been going so well up to this point, but his mind wandered where it shouldn’t have and he had broken his concentration. This was fine he could recover, he just had to get back on track. It would be difficult, but he was not expecting this to be easy.

“Yes, I’m fine,” He said, regaining his composure and attentiveness. 

Sniper was worried. The slight tensions in his muscles and the way he instinctively leaned toward him were minute, but unmistakable. There was the slightest movement of his hand, probably an attempt to try to reach for the Spy, stopped just as it started. He wanted an explanation.

“I am simply…” He thought for his next words. 

What could he say? He was concerned? He was doubtful? There was no viable answer to assuage his doubts that wouldn’t leave him exposed. But that wasn’t how lies worked. Lies didn’t leave you exposed. There were no truths to them. The lies can’t be used against him because they are not true. 

“Simply lost in thought.” He finished.

There was silence for a while. 

“Anything worth sharin’ for the class?” The Sniper asked hesitantly.

The Spy didn’t respond immediately. His instinct response was no, of course not, how dare you even request such a thing, but there was a part of him that wanted him to say yes. A part of him screamed at him to share his worries with the Sniper. That he… could be trusted… 

“I… am sorry it has to be this way,” The Spy said after some thought. “I… had grown fond of our… encounters… Unfortunately, what’s done is done.”

The Sniper looked distraught, subtle hints of desperation in his eyes. “There’s nothin’ I can do to convince you otherwise?” His voice creaked and threatened to break. “I don’t even understand why you decided you’re not talking to me in the first place. If you like talkin’ to me, then you don’t have to stop.”

“Oh, that it were so simple, bushman,” The Spy sounded wistful and almost apologetic.

“But it is that simple!” The Australian interrupted. “What am I gonna do, ruin ya reputation? Rat you out to some big name bloke for a shiny new van?” He shook his head. “Nah, mate. I’m nobody. Even if I were, I ain’t a bloody snitch. Thought you knew that about me.”

“It’s not that!” Spy growled angrily. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

His facade had popped like a balloon, and he was stunned. He hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t even think about it before he said it. Why had he said that? Coworkers come and go all the time. He didn’t need to be worried about it. So why was he?

“Spook…” The Sniper’s voice had dropped to a more comforting tone. 

The worried hand returned, this time making it all the way to Spy’s shoulder. Spy was still too stunned to brush the hand off, but it was almost a blessing for him at that point. 

“Spook, I’m not a kid,” He said, giving a small, reassuring smile. “I can take care of myself. I’m a mercenary. I kill people for a living. I’ll be fine.”

Spy looked at him almost accusingly. “But what if-”

“That’s a risk that I’m willin’ to take,” He said confidently. “Been through the ringer a few times already. Ain’t afraid to go through it again for a friend.”

Spy looked surprised and then confused. “A friend?”

“Yeah, what else would I call you?” Sniper chuckled. “Would a neutral coworker let you invite ya’self to his campervan whenever you wanted?”

Spy blinked a few times. “Um…. No?” The Sniper laughed at that. “I have not had coworkers before. I will not tolerate being _mocked._ ”

“I’m not mockin’ ya, mate,” The Sniper said, settling down. “Just didn’t think of it, ‘sall. You wouldn’t have had any coworkers before this job, would you’ve?” He shook his head. “The point is… I care about ya, Spook. My life’s dangerous as it is, and I’m not afraid t’ take on more to spend some of it with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write Sny fluff but had nowhere to put it. Then I remembered I have unresolved Sny drama here and that after resolving it, I could write as much Sny fluff as I wanted. So this is me, "resolving" the sny drama


	17. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's SNOW! In NEW MEXICO! Why? I DON'T KNOW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, It snowed here and I've been wanting this from me, it's not technically related to their autism, but they all got autism ok, just let me have my snow day chapters.
> 
> YES I SAID CHAPTERS THERE'S GONNA BE AT LEAST TWO MORE.

Overnight, the entirety of both of the Teufort bases had been covered in snow. With the issues of camera visibility and potential machinery error, the teams were forced to call a ceasefire. 

Scout had been ecstatic. He giggled as he ran through the snow like a kid. He hadn’t seen any snow since he’d left Boston and it reminded him of home. After getting a full 30 minutes of it by himself, he ran back inside. He slid through the halls, slipping in some places from the ice melting in the tread of his shoes. He made it to the living halls and slid to a stop.

“PYRO!” He banged loudly on their door as he yelled. There was a muffled murmur from inside. “C’mon, Pyro, it’s important!!”

There was further mumbling from inside as he heard shuffling, indicating they were getting up. He hopped around in place as he waited. In a few moments, the door opened, revealing Pyro wearing their own normal clothes, a soft blanket draped around their shoulders, an eye mask pulled to their forehead, and a balloonicorn plush under their arm. He wiped at his face, hitting the glass of his mask as he murmured tiredly.

“Yes, of COURSE it’s important!” Scout yelled.

“What,  _ monsieur _ , could be so important that you wake up the entire team at five o’clock in the morning?” An angry growl sounded from behind him. 

Scout turned around slowly to find a very angry Spy behind him. He felt lucky that he wasn’t stabbed where he stood. Spy was in his nightclothes, which appeared to consist of pants and a rich-looking robe. Scout chuckled.

“Well, uh… hehe…” Scout may be fast on his feet, but he squirmed when producing an answer. “Well, uh, I’ll tell you what… uh…” He glanced at the Pyro swiftly before looking back to Spy. “Preeeetty sure they called a ceasefire today?” He chuckled nervously and shrugged, as if questioning the acceptability of the answer.

Spy raised an eyebrow. “What?” He scrutinized Scout’s face. “Why would you say that?”

Scout chuckled. “Well, uh, hehe, me and Pyro’re gonna go find out now,” He grabbed the Pyro’s hand by surprise and sprinted off. “Alright see ya Spy gotta go don’t kill me in my sleep!”

Spy groaned as he watched the two run off and around the corner. He groaned and grumbled as he heard his other teammates rousing from their beds as well. He returned silently to his room.

“What was the matter?” The Sniper asked. He was laying in Spy’s bed, wrapped tightly in his blankets.

“Scout says he believes there is a ceasefire today,” Spy said, abandoning his robe and climbing back into bed.

“Why would he say somethin’ like that?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.

“He would not say,” Spy answered, burrowing into the bed. “He ran off without answering, as usual.”

“Seems like somethin’ we should look into, yeah?” Sniper asked, propping himself up on his arm.

“He woke up the entire team. We need not worry about someone looking into it,” Spy rolled over to face the Sniper, a serious expression on his groggy face. “Lay back down.”

“Nah, I wanna get a look at whatever’s got the ankle biter worked up,” Sniper sat up completely and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m gonna go out there. You can stay here if you want.”

Spy held out a hand to hold him back as Sniper left to put his clothes on. The hand slipped off easily as Sniper left his reach, and he fell face first into his pillows. He laid in still silence for a few seconds before groaning and sitting up.

“Fine,” He said. “You win this round, bushman, but you’ll make it up to me.”

Sniper smirked as he pulled his pants on. “Sounds good to me.”

Spy got back out of bed and picked up the robe he had thrown onto a chair. He threw it on loosely and lit a cigarette. After a puff, he sauntered over to the window and looked outside.

“Oh,” The Spy said, genuinely sounding surprised.

“What is it?” Sniper asked, pulling his socks on.

“You may want to grab your coat from your van.”

“My what now?” Sniper stopped and looked over to him.

“Your coat, bushman,” He said. He pulled his eyes away from the window to look at the Australian. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a coat.”

The Sniper chuckled. “I’m from Australia. I moved to New Mexico for this job. I only got vests, mate.” He stood and walked over to Spy as he talked. “Why are you so adamant that I-”

He caught a glimpse of the white landscape and stopped. He finished his approach and took in the view. He had never seen anything like it. Not in person, anyways. He’d seen movies, but nothing like it in person.

“What the fuck?” was all he could say as he took it all in.

“You might want a hot drink,” Spy said as he left the window, a puff of smoke accompanying the words. “I will see if I can find you a coat.”

Spy left him to ogle the white landscape as he got dressed.

By the time Spy returned, Sniper had only moved to pull a chair closer to the window. Spy scoffed as he tossed a spare coat onto the bed. He picked Sniper’s shirt and vest off the foot of the bed and folded them over the back of the chair.

“I’ll go fetch some coffee,” He said. “Get yourself dressed while I’m gone.”

“M’kay,” The Sniper said with an absentminded nod.

Spy looked at the Australian for a few seconds more before turning and exiting silently.

Sniper took a minute or two more to watch the large white flakes falling from the sky before remembering Spy’s request. He reached behind him and pulled his polo off the back of the chair, not looking away for a second. His eyes were glued outside as he slipped it on his arms and quickly over his head. He stared as he reached for his vest and pulled it over his arms. He chuckled a bit at the sight as he heard the door open and close behind him, and he pointed.

“Look, there’s Scout,” Sniper chuckled. “What’s he doin’?”

Spy was by his side once more and handed a black coffee to Sniper. “He appears to be making a giant snowball most likely for a snow person. The more important question is what does he think he’s doing wearing  _ that _ in this weather?”

The Scout didn’t appear to be wearing anything too much different from his normal attire. The only difference was an addition of a jacket and a change of hat. His companion, the Pyro, looked a little chilly even in their insulated suit.

“I dunno, mate. Makin’ a giant snowball, I guess.”

Sniper smirked and looked up at Spy for the first time since he got dressed. On top of his regular outfit he had a scarf tied nicely around his neck and tucked into a long black coat. To top it all off, he had a fancy hat on.

“Is that your Wanka Prick in ya hat?” He asked.

“Yes,” The Spy responded quickly, picking up the spare coat from the bed. “Now go make Scout put on some clothes.”

The Sniper chuckled as he grabbed the coat and set the coffee down. “Alright, alright.”

It was tan and was extremely soft on the inside. It had a collar and a large fur-lined hood that more than covered even his hat if he felt so inclined to wear them together. He slipped it on and stuffed his hands in the pockets. There was something in the left pocket.

“Gloves?” He asked after pulling them out.

“You will need them.”

“Alright,” He said, pulling them on. After they were in place, he grabbed his hat and glasses. “Need anythin’ else while I’m out, Your Highness?”

“No,” He said, filling the seat Sniper had just been in. “Hurry back before your coffee gets cold.”

“Right,” He nodded. “Be back in a jiffy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like a 3 shot that is unrelated to the previous Sny drama, just let me have this nice nice Sny fluff. 
> 
> Also, yes, this is Sniper's first snow.


	18. Crossbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a short break in our Snow Adventure.

The Heavy pushed onto the capture point, flanked closely by his Medic. The Medic’s senses were on high alert, as they always were on the field. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a glowing rocket from the BLU Soldier. He sidestepped, hiding behind the larger man as a bullet barely whizzed past his face. He barely exhaled the breath he had been holding when he felt someone behind him. He pivoted quickly, keeping his Medi-Gun locked on Misha.

“Doc!” The Scout yelled at him. The kid was crouched behind him, scattergun in hand, looking up with him with piercing grey eyes. He seemed worried.

“Mein Scout!” Wilhelm growled. He motioned in the direction of the last bullet. “Take care of that Sniper! He nearly took my head!”

“I can’t!” Jeremy whined pitifully. “I’m hit!”

He held up his arm, showing a large, bleeding scrape along it. Wilhelm could immediately tell it looked much worse than it was. As long as he didn’t get too much dirt in it, he'd be fine, even without his help.

“Scout, I’m quite busy at the moment,” He said, motioning to the Heavy who was currently under fire. “If you’re upset about it, find a Medkit and get up into that Sniper’s nest!”

The Scout seemed shocked. “You’re just gonna send me through the respawn?” He asked, his grey eyes pleading. “You know how sick it makes me feel!”

Wilhelm growled and glanced at Misha for only a second. As long as he didn’t eat too many rockets, he should be fine. He hooked the Medi-Gun’s trigger over the crook of his elbow and pulled out his crossbow.

“Fine, hold still!” The Medic growled at the Scout. “It’ll hurt worse if you squirm.”

“Now hold on, wait,” The Scout protested, a panic running through his eyes. He took a step back as a bolt hit him in the chest. “Agh! Fuck! What the hell, Doc?”

As the second bolt hit him, his form wavered. He panicked, trying to pull the venomous bolts out and mess with his watch at the same time. The fumbling gave the doctor enough time to pull out his bonesaw.

“I don’t have time for this,” He growled, bringing the saw down for the final blow. He was back behind the Heavy before the Spy’s body even hit the ground.

Misha glanced behind him at the commotion. “Everything alright, Doktor?”

Wilhelm gave a short, serious nod before beckoning the Heavy to move. “Forward!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not worry! The next chapter will be returning to the snow!! This was just in my head and I'm like "Well, might as well write down some notes about it before I forget!" and then wrote the whole chapter. I considered waiting to post it, but... figured I might as well give it to you now.


	19. Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Snow Day, as promised!

Johann woke up to Misha moving out of his arms. He mumbled sadly as he was left alone, slowly curling in on himself. After a few seconds of near inaudible whines, Johann rubbed his eyes and sat up. He saw Misha getting dressed and looked at his watch. It was much earlier than they usually got up.

“What is it, Bärchen?” He asked, concern in his eyes.

“Scout yelling.”

Johann chuckled. “When isn’t he?” He smiled softly. 

When his comment didn’t sway him in the slightest, Johann sighed and slipped out of bed. He was wearing soft, baggy pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. He stretched and slid into his slippers as Misha finished getting himself changed. The two left the room together in silence, Johann wrapped loosely around Misha’s arm.

Upon entering the hallway, they found that Misha was not the only one who Jeremy had awakened. The Soldier was marching down the hall towards the kitchen, the Demoman cradling his head in his hands stumbling behind him. He felt bad for the poor man, but he did this to himself every day. He had tried to help on more than one occasion, only to be yelled out of the kitchen every time.

Misha followed the pair to the kitchen, Medic in tow, to find the Engineer already there. He seemed already alert and was starting the coffee pot. That didn’t surprise Johann; he always woke up before everyone else to make breakfast anyways, so this probably wasn’t too much earlier than he was up already.

“Mornin’, fellas,” He said cheerily. “Sorry Scout’s yellin’ riled y’all awake.”

The Soldier wound up to yell, but the Demoman expected it. Before Soldier could make a sound, the Scottsman reached up and placed a firm hand on his helmet. He shushed the American, his eye closed tightly, shaking his head. The Medic paused, waiting to see if he would say anything in response. When there was none, he took the opportunity.

“It’s quite alright, mein freund,” He said. “Did you happen to know why he was so antsy this morning?”

“Ah yeah, that,” The Engineer replied. He pointed to the window. “The Administrator called a ceasefire today. Low visibility and a high chance of machinery malfunction.”

Johann looked to the window as he pointed and smiled at the news. Americans were so silly sometimes, but he was overjoyed by the news. He had the whole morning to himself, _and_ it was snowing. Snow always brought back good memories of dinner with family, reminded him of his mother’s latkes. He smiled softly as he leaned his head against Misha’s arm and stared outside into the snow. Maybe Scout had the right idea after all.

As the Engineer began to cook, Johann let Misha know he would return. After a smile and nod in response, he gave a gentle peck to the larger man’s hand and turned to leave. He moved down the hall the two had just come from, passing the Spy as he went. He gave the man a friendly smile, but was ultimately ignored. That was fine, he supposed. He didn’t really expect anything different from him. 

He reached his room and slipped inside to get changed. He picked out a nice brick red sweater vest to go with his normal shirt and tie. He slipped his boots on and grabbed his hat and scarf from the closet. After attending to his attire, he headed out into the hallway, where he was met with the team’s Sniper.

“Ah, guten morgen, Herr Sniper!” He chirped with a smile.

“Uh… hey… Doc,” The Sniper seemed confused.

“That coat looks nice on you!” He beamed. “Is it new?”

“Uh… thanks…” He said, looking down at it. “And, yeah, it is… What are you… doing?”

“I’m on my way downstairs to feed mein lieblings!” He said with a loving glow. “Archimedes loves the snow! He’ll be so excited! And you?”

“Uh… Well, I saw Scout runnin’ around outside, ‘n I thought I’d go talk to him.”

“Ah, well, I won’t hold you, then,” He said. “Enjoy the snow!”

Johann gave a wave with a small smile as he walked away, leaving Sniper alone in the hall watching him go. He was soon to the doors of his Med Lab and quickly unlocked them. He silently opened the door and closed it behind him. Despite his best efforts, the clicking of his boots was enough to wake the lightest of sleepers. The movement of the few led to movement of many and soon enough a flock of tired, curious eyes were upon him. 

“Ah, good morning, lieblings!” He said to them. “I know it’s early.”

He reached into the cabinet where he kept their food, and as usual, they quickly forgave him for waking them. Archimedes hopped up to his shoulder and nuzzled his face. He was bloodstained, as he usually was.

“You’re lucky the air is so cold this morning,” Johann chuckled, nuzzling back. “I swear you get yourself dirty on purpose to spite me.”

He pulled a small handful of bird feed out of the bag and held it up to him. Archimedes cooed and ate happily from his hand, seeming happy to stay burrowed in Johann’s scarf.

“Are you going to make me hold this up?” Archimedes cooed happily in response. Johann scoffed playfully. “Verwöhnter vogel!”

After Archimedes had eaten a reasonable amount, Johann pulled his hand away, to Archimedes’ dismay, and sprinkled the remaining feed with rest.

“I have a surprise for you, liebling,” He cheered quietly to him, catching his attention again. 

Johann held open more room in his scarf, which Archimedes immediately nestled into. He reached up and tapped the top of his beak with a single finger. He reached down and gave each willing participant a scratch as he made his way to the door.

“I’ll be back, meine lieben!” He called to them. There was some shuffling in response as he made his way back out.

By the time he returned, the Engineer had finished making breakfast and the three mercenaries he had left alone were eating. Misha had a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast whereas the two explosive mercenaries had similar plates, with the addition of waffles. As he approached, he noticed the Heavy had made him food. On one plate held scrambled eggs with a piece of toast while the other held a bagel spread with cream cheese. He looked carefully over the plates as he approached, putting a gentle hand on his partner’s shoulder.

“I’m back, schatz,” He hummed. The plates appeared to be his personal ones.

“I made you eggs,” Misha told him, allaying his concerns. The Medic sat down beside him with a smile.

“Thank you, Bärchen,” He said, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

“You brought bird,” The Heavy pointed out.

“Yes, he hasn’t seen snow since we came here to America,” He leaned over to Misha and put up a hand to block off Archimedes from the conversation. “He’s going to be so excited.”

The bird cooed and flapped in the scarf at being excluded, making Johann yelp. Archimedes halfway freed himself from the scarf and fluttered onto the table, dragging half of the Medic’s scarf and his glasses with him.

“Archimedes! No!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sniper has previously only met Ludwig, so he's a little concerned upon meeting Medic That is Not Ludwig


	20. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy accidentally triggers Sniper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor violence and blood

The Sniper sighed, resting his weight on his hands and examining the mess on the table in front of him. Spy had insisted they do a puzzle, and he insisted they didn’t. Yet here he was. Doing this stupid puzzle. Spy had dumped the 1000 piece puzzle on his coffee table, and now Sniper was stuck here putting these pieces near each other until some of them connected themselves. Spy had been helping, matching random pieces together while Sniper had been doing his best to put the edge pieces together to form the perimeter.

“Are you having fun yet?” The Spy asked, coming around the table. He put a hand on Sniper’s arm, and it wandered up to his shoulder.

“No,” The Sniper grumbled. “I told ya’, I hate puzzles.”

“You are still doing the puzzle.” He set his head on Sniper’s shoulder.

“I know.”

“If you really don’t like it, we don’t have to finish it,” Spy said, gently rubbing Sniper’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we do, it’s on the table, and we can’t move it till it’s done.”

Spy frowned and pulled his head off. Sniper’s muscles were full of knots and strain from hours spent hunched over a gun. Spy gently began to massage his shoulder, a gesture gone mostly unnoticed to the preoccupied Australian.

“That’s not true,” He said gently. “If you’re truly not interested, I can put it back in the box and we can do something else.”

“No!” Sniper stated, his voice annoyed and almost a growl. He tensed as Spy’s thumbs ran around his shoulder blades and down his spine.

“Spook,” He warned. “Spook what’re y-”

The Spy’s thumb pressed into the much too familiar spot on his back, sending his brain into an immediate fight or flight response. He smacked the Spy’s hand away. Before he had time to respond, Sniper’s fist was colliding with the Spy’s face. He staggered backwards away from his enemy, reaching behind him for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand found something cold and weighty and grabbed it by the handle, wielding it in one hand.

“Back off, ya’ bloody wanka!” He growled. He felt woozy and suddenly he was reminded of the horrible feelings that respawn gave him. “Ya not gettin’ me this time.”

“Mundy!” The Spy growled in response, clutching his nose.

“Don’t call me that, ya BLU piss wanka!” He lurched forward, swiping with his weapon. 

The Spy easily sidestepped his attack. Sniper braced for the retaliation blow, but it didn’t come. He wasn’t complaining, but he immediately flipped around, turning his back away from the Spy. He took a swipe, then another, both of which were easily sidestepped. Within a second, the Spy cloaked. 

The Sniper swore and began to back up. He looked around the room trying to spot any signs of movement. His grip on his weapon tightened as he silenced, listening for footsteps. After a few seconds of no sound nor movement, he swore again.

“Come out, ya bloody fuckin’ coward!” He yelled.

His adrenaline infused senses felt a prickling on the back of his neck; someone was behind him. He slammed the whole weight of his body backwards into the wall. He hadn’t run into anyone, and the collision with the wall knocked the air out of his lungs. He growled as he was forced to the ground by his own body. He had to catch his breath.

He crawled into a seated position, back pressed firmly against the wall. He held his weapon out in front of him, a warning to any would-be attacker. He looked around frantically, knowing his enemy could come from anywhere at any time. He had to be ready.

But the enemy never came. Slowly, his breath returned and the adrenaline faded. He lowered his weapon and brought it closer to him. Looking at it, it appeared to be… a bottle of wine? Where had he gotten a bottle of wine in the field? He lifted it back up to himself, still holding it by the neck of the bottle. It appeared to be… one of Spy’s fancy wines?

As he read the label, his view of the world began to become clearer. He wasn’t in a nest. He was in Spy’s smoking room. He looked around the room and glanced over to the table. The puzzle. They had been doing a puzzle. Spy, he… he had… Where had Spy gone?

“Spy?” Sniper called meekly, silently hoping that he was still in the room.

After a few seconds of silence, the Spy uncloaked, sitting on the floor about 10 feet away from the Sniper. He was holding his nose and held Sniper in a constant stare. The Spy brought his hand down temporarily to glance at it and Sniper saw that he was bleeding.

“Spook, are you alright? I’m sorry, I don’t…” Sniper set the bottle down gently and carefully scooted closer. The Spy had retrieved a handkerchief by that point and was holding it to his nose. “I don’t know what came over me, I just… I just kinda… did it.”

The Sniper tried to reach out to comfort the Spy. The Spy resisted, but just barely.

“I am fine, bushman,” He said almost coldly. He looked at the Sniper for a few seconds, as if having trouble reading him. 

“I apologize,” The Spy said carefully. “I did not anticipate this sort of reaction, but I suppose it would make sense.”

“What?” The Sniper was confused. The Spy was sittin’ there with a bloody nose and  _ he  _ was apologizing?

“I should have asked first,” He said plainly. “I can’t imagine putting pressure on a fatal wound you receive multiple times a day could have turned out any better.”

“Spook, I… What’re you on about?” Sniper thought hard about the event. Everything was blurry and fuzzy and hard to make out. He was fighting the BLU Spy, or at least he thought he was. After a few minutes of thought, he realized. 

“Oh, that was… Oh,” He sighed and gently gave a hug to Spy who leaned into it. “Spook… We didn’t know, y’ couldn’t have. I’m not upset with ya.”

Sniper placed a small peck on Spy’s forehead and set his head on top. He sat there in silence, holding his Spy close, like a child might hold a stuffed animal during a thunderstorm. After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

“Is your nose alright?” He asked softly.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It’s fine. Worst case scenario, I go see the Medic in the morning, and he sets it in place.”

Sniper sighed guiltily and placed another peck on the man’s head.

“Hey,  _ non, mon cher, _ ” The Spy looked up at the Sniper. The blood was smeared all over his mouth and chin. “I am fine. You will not feel guilty about me. My nose has been broken worse many times before.”

The Sniper gave a discontented hum, through which the Spy gave him a small kiss. Sniper returned his head to rest upon Spy’s.

“Okay,” He relented. 

They sat in silence together for a long time. Sniper had begun to doze off when Spy spoke.

“We do not have to finish the puzzle,” He said calmly.

“Ah, bloody piss, I forgot about the puzzle,” Sniper groaned. “I don’t wanna finish the puzzle.”

“Then I will put it away.”

“No, you can’t,” Sniper said, returning back to his earlier argument. “We have to finish it before we can put it up, that’s just how it works.


	21. Medkit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy steals a Medkit "for later"

Spy watched the BLU team in still silence. He had a few seconds before his Cloak and Dagger recharged and this was the safest spot to keep an eye on their important players. Not too far from the action that he couldn’t tell what was happening, but not close enough that someone would stumble upon him accidentally. And on the off chance that someone did bump into him, there was a small health kit inside the nearby shed for when he was finished with them.

There was a vibration from his watch signalling a full charge. 

_ Parfaite. _ He smirked to himself.

He stepped back into the building for the shortest of moments as he grabbed the medical equipment inside. Better he have it for later than leaving for one of the BLU to survive off of. Maybe he could drop it off near the front nest. He knew Mundy would find it there when they pushed forward.

He shoved the kit under his arm and rushed back to the door. Instead of going through the door, however, he slammed into thin air at a rate that knocked the wind out of him. There was a loud yelp and he heard a clattering on the ground nearby. The front of his suit felt wet where he was impacted. Blood?

There was an electrifying buzz as the BLU Spy appeared on the ground before him, his Dead Ringer falling from his hand. The Spy hissed as he pulled his navy glove from his abdomen, assessing the extent of the damages. The red blood had soaked through most of his suit, and he appeared to be having trouble staying conscious. There was a large slash across his abdomen where most of the blood was coming from along with many smaller wounds. He had not realized his Demoman was feeling adventurous today, but the Spy would not have escaped his Medic with a wound like that. The BLU replaced his hand with a wince.

Spy’s watch buzzed again, signalling its recharge.

“ _ Pardon, _ ” He said, uncloaking. He held up the Med-Kit he had previously claimed. “Looking for this?”

The BLU looked up at the RED blearily, barely able to process his blood on the other’s suit.

“ _ Oui, _ ” He wheezed quietly, holding out his free hand. “ _ S’il vous plaît. _ ”

The RED scoffed. 

“ _ Non, _ ” He took a step closer and squatted down next to the injured. “Do I look like a fool?”

“ _ Quoi? _ ” The BLU looked at him pleadingly, his hand moving to steady himself on the RED’s leg.

“You are in no condition to patch yourself up,  _ mon ami _ .” The RED stated, popping open the kit. “Sit up.”

The BLU did as he was told and pulled his tattered jacket off his torso to the best of his ability. The white shirt underneath was barely able to be called that anymore, the only remaining white being near his collar and the outer side of his arms.

“I’m not sure this shirt is worth saving,” The RED scoffed as he shifted to his knees. He pulled out the bandages and set the included bottle of healing tonic within his friend’s reach. 

“Perhaps you should just send me through respawn then,  _ non? _ ” The BLU coughed. The RED smirked.

“Perhaps I will,” He said. “We are grave enemies, are we not?”

Soon the BLU’s bare back was visible. There were fresh burns and wounds from shotgun pellets peppering his skin.

“ _ Mon Dieu, _ you’ve made everyone your enemy today haven’t you?” He said, retrieving an ointment from the kit. “Have you never heard of subtlety?”

“ _ Tais-toi, _ ” The BLU hissed in return. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a slimy, ungloved hand rubbed at his burns, but he held his tongue.

The RED had uncapped the burn ointment and begun applying it without even a second of hesitation. He was careful, but confident, expertly avoiding the bullet wounds and barely grazing over the deep punctures. He really had made himself a pincushion, hadn’t he? Within only a minute or two, the bottle was emptied and the burns seemed much less red.

“I doubt this kit is going to be an adequate substitute for your Medic,” The RED Spy said as he tossed the empty container back into the box. He wiped the remaining residue on the BLU Spy’s pant leg. He groaned in response as the RED shifted him into a position more fit for applying bandages. “Oh,  _ tais-toi, bèbè _ . They were ruined anyway.”

The RED unravelled the bandage enough to reach it around the other man and secure it under itself well enough to begin wrapping his chest tightly. As he began wrapping, he glanced down at the untouched healing tonic. He doubted the other even noticed it. He picked it up with one hand and uncorked it with his teeth before putting it in the other man’s hand.

“Drink,” He said flatly, barely stopping his binding. " _ C'est le bouillon de ta mère. _ ”

The BLU gave him an unimpressed look, but took it anyway. He drank the liquid in as close to a shot as he could muster, visibly wincing at the taste. The RED Spy finished dressing the wound as he watched the smaller of the scrapes begin to close. 

The RED Spy began picking up the remnants of the kit for disposal as the other redressed himself. Setting the kit aside, he stood and brushed the dirt and grime off his suit, but there was nothing to be done about the blood. Though less noticeable on his jacket than the BLU’s, there was no missing the incredible stain on the front.

“You owe me a new jacket,” He said, showing off the stain. The injured looked up at him bleakly as he scooped up his watch and pushed himself up along the wall. The RED sighed. “Can you walk?” 

" _ Peut-êtres _ ," He groaned, holding himself up on the wall with a wince.

The RED sighed a bit at the pitiful sight and reached for his cigarette case.

“Well, c’mon then, mate,” The BLU Sniper chided. “We don’t got all day.”

The BLU Spy looked up to his companion. The Sniper was holding out a supportive arm and gave him a smirking wink. 

“ _ Toi andouille _ ,” The BLU groaned, allowing his friend to sweep an arm under his own to support his weight.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the Medic,” He said, holding the Spy steady. “I got places to be and blokes to stab.”

Within a few minutes, they had made their way back to the battlefield coming behind the BLU team.

“Medic!” The Sniper shouted towards the battle in a moment of quiet. 

The Medic gave a confused glance behind him toward the uncommon call. The Sniper was never this close to the front. He had to have a reason. His glance told him he was carrying someone.

“Sniper!” The Medic yelled, backing from the fight. As soon as he was a safe distance away from active fire, he ran to close the gap. 

“What happened?” He asked, already checking over the Spy’s wounds and surprisingly adequate dressing.

“I dunno, mate. He stumbled int’ m’ nest, and I did m’ best to patch ‘im up,” He held the Spy steady for the Medic whose Quick-Fix was humming to life. “He was makin’ quite a racket. I’m surprised the other Spy didn’t find ‘im ‘fore I did. He knocked over a whole buncha shit, like m’ coffee and a few of my-”

“ _ Quiet, _ bushman,” The Spy spat, regaining enough strength to push himself off. He was still a bit unsteady, but with each passing second, his stamina grew.

“Right, sorry,” He said awkwardly. “Ah, well, uh, I guess I gotta go. You lot look like you could use some cover.”

The Medic nodded, keeping a careful eye on the Spy. The Australian took a few steps backwards when he caught a glint of light from across the battlefield. He swore loudly as he ducked, barely dodging a bullet from the RED Sniper.

He sprinted off towards the BLU base. He had to get back to “his” sniper’s perch. He had a feeling he would have some company.


	22. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy and Sniper have to go to the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote a pandemic chapter fuck off i need this

Spy hated the fact that he had to go into town. He had a disguise he could use so he could avoid taking off his balaclava, but the arbitrary nature of the whole thing always felt like a waste of time. He despised how the people in town treated him with such a lack of respect, but he had learned to get over his emotions. 

The whole situation was made worse by the fact that he had gone with a teammate. The Sniper was the best case scenario, but it was still far from ideal. He had no idea how he could just bring his whole campervan anywhere he needed to be. 

He glanced out of the window as they passed into city limits. Silently, he pulled out his cigarette case and selected his disguise. It was a man of similar stature and figure as him, but the similarities mostly ended there. The short red hair and brown eyes created a face that was just recognisable enough to not be him, but it didn’t stand out enough to be too out of the ordinary. His lighter flicked to life as he lit a cigarette from his case. The noise caught the Sniper’s attention and caused him to glance over. He had to do a double take, a bit startled by the change of the man sitting in his passenger seat.

“Woah, um,” The Sniper stammered for a bit before catching himself. “So… uh… sorry, Spook, just didn’t expect…” He shrugged a little before motioning to the Spy generally. “That…”

The Spy raised an eyebrow as he puffed on his cigarette. “What did you expect?”

“Oh, I don’... I dunno,” He shrugged awkwardly. “Just didn’t expect to go grocery shopping with a… stranger.”

The Spy watched him as he pulled into a parking space in the lot outside the Teufort General Store, slowly consuming his nicotine fix. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep, smoky sigh as the Sniper turned off the van. He was mentally preparing himself as he felt a small nudge on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the Australian holding out a small red cloth to him, affixing his own to his face with one hand.

“Right,” He said, taking the cloth. 

He had forgotten. He had left the base maybe once or twice maximum since this had started, and didn’t need one in his local quarantine. He slipped the cloth over his nose and mouth, affixing it to his ears and looked back up to the Sniper. He looked so different with a mask on. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t see the microexpressions in the other’s face. The small details he worked with were obscured.

“You alright?” The Sniper asked. Spy realized he had been looking at him for much longer than was usually acceptable.

“Uh, yes. I am fine, bushman.” He said, reaching to straighten a tie that was not there. 

His disguise was much less formal that he would have liked, but he would have to put up with it. The image he liked to put forth wasn’t very well received in small towns like this. He instead brought his hand up to his mouth to take another drag of his cigarette, only to make contact with his mask instead. He paused for a second before realizing what was happening. 

He cleared his throat and flicked off the fiery end of the half smoked cigarette out the opened window for a few seconds before pinching out the remainder of the flame with his fingertips. He placed the cigarette back in its case with a light cough. He looked up to his chauffeur. Sniper had been staring for the entirety of the interaction.

“What?” The Spy said.

“Uh, sorry,” The Sniper looked away to the door, resting his hand on the handle. “Just… tryin’ to… make sure I’ll remember the face… so I don’t take home the wrong bloke, y’know?”

Spy could tell something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what. After a silent pause, the two got out. The Sniper locked his van and the two walked inside. Even though he was disguised and his face was covered, Spy couldn’t help but sense the anxiety creeping up on him. A man greeted them as they entered and Spy’s hand flew to his watch in anticipation. He glanced over the man’s face, trying to scrutinize the man’s intentions. He couldn’t see his face.

“G’day,” The Sniper said with a little wave and a glance to the Spy. He nodded in the other direction to direct Spy. “C’mon, mate.”

The Spy glanced up at the Sniper and back to the man before realizing how hard or fast he had clutched his watch. He released the watch and walked in the direction, not taking his eyes off the man until he was out of sight. He ran a thumb over the crisp edges of his watch harshly as he stood near his Sniper. 

He glanced up to see that the Sniper seemed distant. He looked back down. It was probably the mask messing with his ability to read him, right? He couldn’t have done something wrong, could he have? It had to be. He was acting the same as he always did, wasn’t he? His thumb pressed harder into the edges of his watch. If he couldn’t control himself nor tell if his opponents approved of what he said, what kind of Spy was he? If he couldn’t do his one job, what did he have?

“Spook,” Spy looked up. The Sniper still wasn’t looking at him. “You mean to cloak?”

He looked down at his watch. Instead of seeing the familiar gold-rimmed face, he saw straight to the floor. He had accidentally pressed the activation key. He took a deep breath. He was being unreasonable. He set his shoulders and uncloaked. He looked up to the Sniper. The Sniper looked surprised, but quickly did his best to suppress it.

“What’s got your strides in a screw?” The Sniper asked, finally looking at him, eager to avoid his slip.

“I could ask you the same thing, bushman,” The Spy said, staring at the taller man.

“What?”

“You are upset with me,” He said simply. He reached for his cufflinks, meeting a hoodie sleeve instead. He sighed internally and twisted it instead, hoping for a similar sensation. 

“What?” The Sniper asked, bewildered. “I’m not mad at you. Why would I be upset with you?”

“You refuse to look at me.” He spoke, his gaze able to force the Sniper to keep their eyes locked, regardless of the change from his normal silver eyes. “Why?”

“W-what?” The Sniper seemed surprised. “I- I haven’t- I don’t… What are you talkin’ about?”

“I usually have to peel you off of me,” He said, releasing their gaze. He looked to his sleeves once more, “let alone trying to avoid your gaze. You’ve kept to yourself this entire time. Obviously, I have upset you in some way.”

“What? No, I…” The Sniper looked the man over empathetically. 

He wanted to place a hand on his shoulder for comfort, but he didn’t know how he would react. But he did, didn’t he? This was still his Spy. He knew how his Spy reacted to being touched, to being pulled into a hug. So why was he so… reluctant? Why did it bother him to see him disguised like this?

“I… I don’t know, I just… I…” He looked down at his feet and held his arm. He shrugged. “I dunno, it just feels… weird.”

The Spy looked back at him. “You’ve hardly had an issue with it before. What makes it so different now?” He looked around the shelving to the man at the front desk. “I didn’t take you as the shy type, bushman. At least not in that regard.”

“No, it’s not that,” The Australian shook his head, still not making eye contact. “I don’t care about some random bloke.”

“Then what is it?” He was getting impatient at this point and reached for his cigarette case before stopping himself. He shouldn’t break his… “I see. You dislike the disguise.”

The Sniper looked up at him. He hadn’t realized that was the case, but he supposed Spy wasn’t wrong. He watched as he pulled out his smoke case and glanced up at the front desk briefly before popping it open.

“Would you prefer a different one?” He asked. The man’s figure suddenly wavered. The cheeky Bostonian’s face was obscured, but Sniper could recognize it from a mile away. “I got one that’s more familiar, if y’ prefer.”

He could hear the stupid grin in his voice, and it unnerved him a little. 

“No, Spy, I don’t-” He tried to reach for the words that weren’t coming. “I don’t think that’s better.”

Even from behind the mask, he could see Scout’s signature smile disappear. With a calmer expression, he looked so much like Spy. It comforted him a little bit, allowing him to take the Spy’s hands.

“I think… I think maybe what was upsetting me was… looking over and seeing… not you…” Sniper pulled a hand away to pull his mask up further in a futile attempt to hide the blush forming across his face.

The Spy was stunned slightly. “ _Quoi?_ I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Sniper shrugged, a hand still holding the cloth. “I can’t hug a stranger I don’t know…” He muttered. “And… I guess I was expecting to… go with you anyways…”

Spy blinked. “What?”

“Well, I mean…” He squeezed Spy’s hand and brought the one holding his mask to the back of his neck. “I expected to go to town with you and was kind of surprised… and kinda sad, too I guess, to see someone else.”

“I… see…” The Spy said, still disguised as the Scout. After a few seconds of thought, he spoke once more. “Alright. If it will make you feel better.”

“What?” The Sniper watched in bewilderment as the Spy’s disguise faded.

“This mask hides most of my face anyways,” He said, a hand holding said mask in place.

“Spy, you don’t have to,” He said, pausing as he watched the man pull at his balaclava under the mask. “No, Spy, you don’t-” He moved incredibly close as the man’s cover was released. “Spy, you didn’t…” He sighed and pulled the aviators off his face. “At least take my sunnies or somethin’.” 

The Spy looked up to him, a small smirk hidden behind his mask. “Of course.”

Spy reached up and snatched the hat from the Sniper’s head, placing it on his own.

“Wh- Hey!”

“You can’t expect the man at the front desk not to notice that your red-haired companion suddenly has a change of hair color.” He said, matter-of-factly as he straightened out the brim. “Eye color is much easier to pass off.”

“Hey watch it!” The Sniper whispered a hiss as he slid his glasses back on his face. “Don’t bend it like that, it doesn’t go that way!”

Within seconds, Sniper was grappling with the Spy, trying to wrest the hat’s brim from his hands. Spy’s devious grin grew as he relished the physical contact he didn't realize he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to be about spy's autism not letting him read people without seeing their face but ended up being about sniper's autism not letting him recognize Spy's tics in someone who's "not spy"


	23. Lows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelm gets the D. Of the MDD :<

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update to prove I'm not dead. Well, I mean, I am, but I mean I'm not done posting to this yet.

Wilhelm closed the door to his assigned room and leaned against it with a pained sigh as he locked it. He slid a hand under his glasses and held his head for a moment. He felt himself wanting to slide down the door and sit himself right there, but he knew better than that. He pushed himself off the door and moved to the other side of the room. He took off his pristine lab coat and slung it over the back of his desk chair before falling into bed. His boots came off, any effort necessary in the process making him feel worse. Soon he was curled up underneath his comforter, holding himself, wanting to claw out his own heart. 

He and Ludwig had been unstoppable on the battlefield yesterday, as they always were when they were together. Ludwig’s unbridled passion and energy mixed with his focus and tenacity made the two unstoppable. The sensation had been tinged slightly by his worry. He knew there was going to be a pit to match the intensity of this peak, but he had assumed the overstimulated mess they had left Johann in would have been enough.

The mess he was currently in was proof that he was wrong. The dread seeping into every facet of his consciousness was almost tangible, causing an instinct in him to want to remove it. It felt as though there was a sucking void pulling him inward, crushing him from the inside. It was a cold burning, sprouting from his chest and creeping outward. His brain told him he could do something, anything to get it out, but he fought against the urges. He knew it would pass; he just had to stay there and make sure he didn’t do anything rash.

As he held himself tightly, he silently wished one of his alters would show up. It was a selfish wish, but that didn’t dissuade him from thinking it. He showed up to do the unpleasant things Johann needed done. He assisted Klaus when he was in need, and he did his best to make sure Ludwig could do what he wanted. Was it really so wrong of him to wish that someone would take over for him, just this once?

There was a knock at the door that made him wince. He wasn’t intending on answering. Whatever anyone else needed would have to wait. He couldn’t even do the things he needed to do for himself, let alone think about what everyone else needed from him.

“Hey, Doc? You in there?” It was the Engineer. “You weren’t in your Lab, and I know you don’t go anywhere else.”

“Go away,” The Medic barked.

“Now, Wilhelm, what’s wrong?” The Engineer replied. “Let me in.”

“No,” He said, not moving from under his comforter. “I’m not interested in being a spectacle.”

“Ah, come on,” The Engineer said. “You know it’s not like that.”

“I said no.” There was a brief silence. “I'll be fine, I just… I just need a moment.”

“No, take your time,” Wilhelm could hear the doorknob be released. “If you need anything, you know where to find me, ‘kay?”

“Of course.”

He had no intent to follow through with the invitation. There were a few seconds of silence before the Texan’s footsteps left. Wilhelm released a quiet, dry sob he didn’t know he was holding in. He would be fine. This was fine. He would get over it. He always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Engi and Ludwig are maybe closer than co-scientists. :point_right::point_left:


	24. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy haves a little cough.

Sniper was amazed at the sheer amount of books Spy kept. He was never one for reading, so he didn’t keep any at all. He knew people who liked reading kept books, but Spy just had… a lot…

“Ah, any you are interested in, _mon chéri_?” The Frenchman in question slid up behind him, an arm running around his lower back, wrapping the Sniper in an embrace.

“Oh, eh, I’m not sure,” The Sniper chuckled, blushing. 

He hadn’t really been looking at the contents of the books. He picked one at random and looked at it. The title was written in gold on the front of the hardcover book. Great, that made it even worse. He struggled to pin the words to the page. Eh… Sur… vey..? Punt? Like a punta?

“Ah, _Surveiller et Punir_?” The Spy questioned, looking over the man’s shoulder. He came around the man’s front and gently took it from him. “I’m not sure you would like that one.”

“What? Why not?” Sniper asked defensively.

“Ah, it’s um…” The Spy gestured vaguely with his free hand as he slipped the book back on the shelf sheepishly. “Well, it’s in French.”

Of course the one he had picked had been in bloody French. Can’t just be written in gold and in a near unreadable font, can it? 

Spy had started skating a single gloved hand a few centimeters from the spines of the books as he ran across them. He appeared to be looking for something when he paused. He had a look of discomfort on his face as he drew his hand back into his pocket. He quickly withdrew a burgundy handkerchief and turned away from Sniper and the bookshelf.

The Frenchman let out a nasty, hoarse cough that rang through his smoking room. The cough was followed by more of the same, each one sounding like it was tearing a hole in the Spy’s esophagus. They sounded like they were stuck and each cough barked rougher than the last. The sound genuinely worried Sniper for the structural integrity of his partner’s lungs. He was certain they had to hurt. He gently placed a hand on the Spy’s back.

After over a full minute of hacking, Spy’s fit had ended. He brought the handkerchief away from his face, inspecting it in his shaky hand. Spy had had his free hand on the bookshelf for support but moved it away to fold the handkerchief and put it away. He turned back to the Sniper, a small smile forced onto his face.

“My apologies, _mon chér_ ,” He said, his voice still shaky. He cleared his voice carefully into his fist.

“You good, Spook?” The Sniper asked, nervous but trying not to overload the man. He put a hand on the man’s free arm, but let it slide naturally down to his hand. “I mean, of course you’re not, but-”

“I am _fine_ , bushman,” He said, barely restraining the motion to push the man’s concerned hand away. 

“Have you seen the Medic about it?” Sniper grabbed the man’s other hand, now carefully holding them closer to him.

“Like I said, bushman, I am fine,” The Spy pulled a hand away to fish in his suit. He pulled out his cigarette case and popped it open. “I only need to see the Medic when I begin to cough up blood.”

The Spy pulled his other hand away from the now stunned Sniper to put a cigarette in his mouth. The case was soon replaced by a lighter as he lit the previously half-smoked cigarette. He took a long drag to relieve his stress.

“Nah, mate, we’re going to the Medic right now.”

“Qu- What?” He was grabbed by the wrist before he had a chance to argue.

~~~~~~~~~

Wilhelm pinched the inner corners of his eyes under his glasses as he tapped the back of the pen on the table. He was mostly done with his paperwork, but the fatigue of three straight hours of it was getting to him. A hard knock at the door broke his concentration. He growled to himself. He was busy and didn’t need to prolong this process any further, but… 

“What is it?” He growled, setting the pen down and standing up. He rolled his shoulders back, his spine popping as he stretched. He had been sitting in one place for too long, and the body was going to punish him for it. 

He looked over to see not one, but two visitors. _Fantastic_. The Sniper seemed focused on the Spy while the Spy seemed focused on muttering curses through the butt of his cigarette. He did not personally talk to the Sniper, but from what he knew of the Spy and what he had overheard of Scout’s yelling about the Australian, he figured it would be a safe bet on who the injured party was.

“What happened?” The Medic asked, walking over to the Spy.

“Nothing!” The Spy dismissed with a puff of smoke.

The Medic cleared his throat, directing the Frenchman to the ashtray on the table near the entrance, stern expression piercing him. Spy groaned and crushed the butt into the tray. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about… that,” The Sniper stated carefully.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at Sniper after ensuring the Spy’s cigarette was out. 

“About what?” Wilhelm looked back at the Spy, inspecting him. “Is it really that time again? It seems much sooner than usual.”

“It’s not.” The Spy tapped his foot. 

“Wait, time?” The Sniper looked at the Medic. “He just coughed up a lung, time for what?”

Wilhelm cocked his head. “Surely it was affixed better than that. I would understand the first time or two it may have been-”

“That was a hyperbole, Doctor,” The Spy responded.

“Ah.” Wilhelm pushed his glasses up carefully as he looked over the Spy. “What other symptoms have you been experiencing?”

“None. I am fine.”

“No blood or phlegm?”

“ _Non_.”

“I see. Well, then you should be fine as long as it does not interfere with your work.”

“It does not.”

The Sniper watched the two in shock. “You can’t just say that! He’s not fine, you didn’t hear him coughin’ his bloody lungs to shreds!”

“Perhaps I didn’t hear this particular coughing fit, but I am, in fact, acutely aware of my patient’s medical issues, believe it or not.” The Medic smiled through his teeth. “However, I suppose I can assist in these short term symptoms.”

The Spy looked up as Wilhelm pulled a gun arm down. It wasn’t his usual Medi-Gun. The gun was pointed at him, and without a moment’s notice, it was activated.

While the Medi-Gun’s healing beam caused a warm, comforting sensation, this gun hurt. The Spy could feel the beam burning his lungs in his chest and he hissed. He felt hot and sore and smothered all at the same time, and he held onto his arms tightly as if he could dig the sensation out with his nails. His lungs felt like they were filled with fire, blocking him from taking in any air at all. He couldn’t breathe. 

Right as he began to fear asphyxiation, it stopped. He was left in the familiar after effects of the Medi-Gun’s overhealing. His grip on his arms loosened a bit shakily as the Medic turned off the gun.

“There you are,” The Medic said, pushing the gun back to its assigned position. “Your lungs should be as good as a new transplant. Did the two of you need anything else?”

“ _Non_ ,” The Spy spat. “We’ll be leaving.”

“Right,” The Medic said. “Have a good night then.”

The Spy grabbed the Sniper before he had a chance to argue and dragged him out of the lab. He was still a bit shaky as he closed the door behind him.

“We are _never_ doing that again,” The Spy growled quietly.

The Sniper looked worried and reflexively put a hand on Spy’s back for support. “Was it really that bad? The beam looked different from the normal one he uses.”

“Yes,” He hissed, pushing Sniper’s hand away weakly. “I’d rather be blown to bits than deal with his Quick-Fix ever again. We already had an arrangement. You did _not_ need to butt in.”

“I… Sorry… I was just trying to help.”

“I’m well aware of that, bushman.” The Spy began walking himself back to his room. 

“Spy, I’m sorry,” Sniper said, trying to catch up. He turned the corner to see Spy had cloaked himself.

“Piss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcannon dyslexic Sniper and Scout.
> 
> Also, yes, Spy has previously gotten lung transplants from Ludwig and Wilhelm expected to have to give one tonight.


End file.
